


Butterflies and Rainbows

by HikaruAdjani



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 61,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruAdjani/pseuds/HikaruAdjani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaina Proudmoore gets more than she bargains for when she is called in to help the Kirin Tor deal with Kel'thuzad's library in Icecrown...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harazi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Harazi).



This is insanity. All insanity.

Varik touched his jaw, flinching against the pain. It wasn't the first time that he'd ever been struck in his life, and judging by his unfortunate ability to say things that should remain unsaid, it probably wasn't going to be the last. That wasn't what truly bothered him; it was that this time it had come from a person who had promised never to strike him. Ever. As long as he did what was best for his people, best for the clan, best for the Horde, that one was never supposed to harm him. And that it had happened in public, a close unto unforgiveable sin. Those in the room had done Varik the respect to not react, to turn their gazes away when the Warchief's hand had fallen.

"You forget your place, woman!"

Varik wrapped his arms around his chest and growled, a low pitched hiss in the near darkness. Woman. Woman?! Of all people… Varik had not been that in years, and for it to be brought up now. The phrase after was perhaps more accurate, but it had hurt as much.

"Go from my sight, freak. Take your prophecies, your words of warning, away. I am the Warchief. I am the shaman. You are not!"

No, Varik had never claimed to be either. Not the Warchief. Not a shaman. He was just…Varik, and until recently, that had seemed to be enough. Now, no more. He had stood for hours, nostrils flared, ignoring the pain, ignoring the flow of blood down his jaw, while those around him ignored it as pointedly as he had. It would be an insult to note that the Warchief had struck him, and there was some solace in the fact that they had not torn into him at that vulnerable moment.

It doesn't matter. Ner'zhul is gone.

Varik sank to his knees, bowing his head. He had failed to stop Ner'zhul so many times before, why did it still seem like such a betrayal that, once again, he had failed to do so?

I could have won it.

Hubris. Still pining over a war well lost. And now, pining over a recovery that seemed as well lost as that war. They had destroyed everything they had touched. Destroyed their world, lost the war, and now, the Warchief… The best thing to do would be to cut his losses, disappear somewhere, and wait it out. Land on his feet again. He'd done it before, this could be no different.

No, even with Ner'zhul gone, they will not let me go. Kargath will try to keep me. And he will fall as surely as Ner'zhul. Another pawn. I'll go from one master to the next. Just a pawn. Just a pet. Used. It's time to take control of this.

Take control. Every time that Varik had tried to take control, it had come around to haunt him. Surely he should know better by now?

If I don't, nothing will stop. Nothing will change. Just an attack dog, to be sicced on somebody else's next target.

He stared at the floor, fixated on the droplets of blood still falling from his nose, landing on the darkness. He rested his fingertips on them, and smeared them into oblivion. He'd bled enough.

No, not enough. There's only one way out of here. Away from Kargath. Away from the Clan. Away from this mess.

Varik pushed that idea from his mind. Not now. Not yet. Not while Ner'zhul still was. As bad as it'd been lately, he still belonged to Ner'zhul. He would not turn his back on that. It was all he still had. And once that was gone, only then he'd truly be free to do this…


	2. Chapter 2

Kargath Bladefist fumed. Damn Ner'zhul. If he'd learned anything in his life, it was that warlocks were things that required careful care. Varik of the Shadowmoon was a fine example of one of those warlocks that needed such measured and thoughtful handling. He was too damned valuable to lose like this.

"Lorka."

"Yes, warlord?"

"Varik." A flurry of expressions crossed her face, ending with responsive wait. She hid it well, but Varik's reputation was well known. There was something about the boy that females loved, and he never lacked for their attentions. This one was probably the balm that the boy needed, in more ways than one. Kargath would not repeat Ner'zhul's mistakes with that one. He'd have everything…women, wine, the finest that the Horde could provide.

"What of him?"

Kargath shrugged slightly. It was too much to tell the woman what had occurred, exactly. The loss of Obris, and the grave insult to Varik, was more than she needed to know. Ner'zhul was determined to go through Gorefiend's portal, even though he had a wiser and much more competent warlock at his disposal warning him loudly not to. The boy had been right too many times before for Kargath's liking. "Tend to him."

"Warlord?" She queried deeply and he smiled.

"Warlord Varik got on the wrong side of someone's fist." He finally stated, and her eyes widened. Varik was too small and fragile physically for that to have gone any way but badly for him.

"So, who has died?" She asked, gathering up her bags. When he did not answer, she raised eyes to his face. If it had been anyone but Ner'zhul, they would have not survived laying a hand on Varik, but…. No one." Yet. There had been a panic in Varik's eyes that made it obvious that was either what he feared…or what he saw. Kargath wasn't certain, the older the boy got, the more it seemed like the latter rather than the former. "Don't ask. Just tend to him."

"Of course."

Tend the Deathcaller. Lorka grinned to herself at the very idea. She'd never been lucky enough to be called to him before, but she'd heard plenty. He was a highly desired lover, whispered about in dark corners. However, he was rumored to be dark and moody, not exactly a surprising leaning for a Shadowmoon, a warlock, and a necromancer. If he'd been embarrassed, he could be a problem.

She knocked at his door, surprised when he opened it himself rather than just bellowing for her to enter. The doorway was unguarded, but then, who would attack Varik? Those who did ended up dead, and death did not keep them away from him. Death was just the beginning...

She gritted her teeth when she got her first good look. The wrong side of someone's fist was putting it mildly. Varik had the focused, stoic stare of a male trying to brash his way through, but the attempt was a poor one. Fist was correct, he had not been slapped, he had been punched, hard, and there was a ring involved. It was all she could do to not stare, only one person could have done this and survived, and a disagreement between the Warchief and one of his warlords was no argument she wanted to be a part of.

"Warlord Kargath sent me to tend to your injury." She managed, and he gazed at her warily out of level brown eyes. "If I may?"

"Certainly." His voice was higher than she had been expecting, but rumors stated that the Deathcaller had once been female. Once been Ner'zhul's consort. Now he was male, and apparently quite a virile and lusty male at that. He pulled off his robes, the black and blue of a caster of the Shadowmoon, they showed no blood. However, the plain white shirt he wore beneath them was stained with blood, sticking to his chest. He stripped it off as well, tossing it defiantly into the corner, and turned to her. He was thin, just like the single branch of a new tree, his skin heavily colored with arcane markings, fine and fragile, childlike.

"Lie here." She patted his bed, an oddly sparse affair of a bedroll tossed over a few skins, and he sighed gustily, but complied, relaxing and closing his eyes. So fragile, but the moment her fingers touched him, she felt the power coiling within him.

The damage was worse than she was expecting, and she kept stubbornly silent. She didn't want to be a target for any rage he could grow after this. She wanted to die, one day, and stay dead, with her ancestors. Those who crossed the Deathcaller rarely got that luxury.

"It's bad." He noted gloomily, and she flinched, warily glancing back in his direction. He had not moved, still seemed relaxed, and his tone was about as even as she could hope for. Still safe, she delved into her bags, and removed her healing supplies.

"It is." His jaw was dislocated, yet he bore the pain silently. He accepted the goblet she offered him, and oddly, for one known to be jumpy and wary, tossed its contents down without seeming to think twice. It would ruin any chances of bedding him that night, but with that jaw, the chances she could turn his eye were slim anyway. Sure enough, he fell into a sudden, deep sleep, and she began to work.

Varik was startled out of a deep and drugged sleep, screaming. There was little new there, he had plenty of reasons to wake up screaming, but this reason was a new one.

Ner'zhul.

Try as he might, he couldn't snatch onto the call that had dropped him out of a sleep that should have never been disturbed. It was dark in his chambers, the braziers long since burned out, and he was alone…for a moment. He could hear that would not last long, raised loud voices in the hallway outside guaranteed that, but he couldn't stop his own keening wails. There were no locked doors in Kargath's keep here, the warriors in the hallway remained there because his reputation preceded him, but that would not keep Kargath away.

"What goes?" As if summoned, he could hear the warlord's booming demand, and he still could not grasp control of himself. Stop. Stop. Stop. But it was if his very soul cried.

"The Deathcaller screams in his sleep." A voice he did not recognize, and once Varik had heard a voice, seen a face, smelled a body, he did not forget.

"He sleeps?" Kargath sounded dubious, and Varik could understand that doubt.

"He must." A female voice, and Varik placed the voice of Kargath's healer immediately. Lorka. That was her name. "I gave him enough drugs to make him sleep for hours, a whole day at least. That was only three hours ago. He must be asleep."

"Must be, cannot be." Kargath grumbled, and Varik blinked against the light from the hallway. "Isn't." The warlord finished, staring at him. "Varik?"

"Ner'zhul!"

"Gone as you warned? Snatched in the darkness?"

Varik hated having his own words sent back to him. Those were the exact same ones he had cried out to Ner'zhul, that the Warchief would be snatched away in the darkness between worlds. "Yes." With Kargath's solid presence, the weight of the hold around him, the dream was fading quickly. "The Nether is where the Deceiver is the strongest…"

"I see. But Ner'zhul is gone?"

"Yeeessss." Varik knew the obvious, with Ner'zhul gone, as promised and warned, Kargath would grasp for power, the Warchief's position. And somehow, that was what he had to avoid becoming part of. Somehow, Kargath's ascension would chain Varik back into an untenable servitude. Why, he wasn't certain, because he'd always had a certain level of respect for the warlord, even if he had been insane enough to mutilate himself for the shock value.

"Then I am sorry for you, Varik. Your loyalty was above reproach. Is there anything you require?"

"No." What Varik required would only make Kargath suspicious. And that couldn't be allowed to happen. The other warlord must remain secure in the idea that Varik was the same gravely loyal servant of the Horde that he had always been. Even though the strands of visions told Varik that Kargath would be the fracture, that he would cease to be the loyal servant of the Horde, first. How, why, Varik didn't know. But fighting against the knowledge was futile. "I need time to reflect, alone. I will be returning to my keep, for awhile." Like most warriors, Kargath had the belief that warlocks needed to spend inordinate amounts of time being, well… warlocks. There were a few problems in that, but they served Varik's purpose all too well.

"Of course, Varik. I will send a detail with you."

Varik only nodded, not bothering to look anything but distracted. He felt distanced, alone, and had never felt more like the freak that Ner'zhul had accused him of being. I don't belong here. I'm tired. I can't do this anymore.

It took days to make the journey, and Varik's gloom had not lessened by the time they travelled to his home. It had been built during a glorious time, when it seemed like the spirits smiled upon them, and they could not be stopped. When it had been a deep joy to have been Varik Shadowmoon. The keep had survived the shattering of the world, but that was about it. Now it was just a reminder, a mockery, of how badly things had gone. It was a fitting place to do what Varik needed to do.

It was amusing, on some level, that Kargath had sent his healer with the detail assigned to keep an eye on Varik. While Varik appreciated the sentiment, and the female was a fine one, with a promise in her eyes that he'd normally be quite happy to take her up on… he was too busy. He gathered his books, dusted off his altar, and began his work, left in blessed peace by those who were too afraid to disturb the Deathcaller while that one was deep in spellwork. And that was everyone here… the handful of warlocks who would have not been afraid to look over his shoulder were long gone now, Gul'dan had reaped his reward. No one here had even the remotest possibility of understanding what he was about. No one would stop him. He just had to figure it out, do it correctly, and it would all be over.


	3. Chapter 3

Lorka was wary. Varik had gone into full warlock stance, and that was apparently not common for him. His behavior was focused, and she could sense the ropes of power he tied, but the knots he was crafting were beyond her. He was purging his body, while she made no sense out of the lambent flow of power that grew around him; she recognized the potions he imbibed, and they would serve to flush his body. They would not make him stronger, rather the opposite. He had stopped eating. Drank only water, and that only sparingly. He was small enough as it was, and her concern grew. He felt tired, drained, but was immune to temptation. She had tried so many things; freshly blooded hunks of meat barely seared, hearty ales, heavy breads… but he'd turned away from it all. He'd turned away from her less and less subtle offerings as well, spending hours with his nose in a tome. He ignored the staff that Kargath had sent to him with a puzzled and formal distance, as if he was the one who didn't belong in the small keep, as if he was the barely invited guest, instead of them. And the keep… Lorka lifted a lip in disgust. He needed a woman, badly. If he ever had been one, it must have been truly purged from him, because this place was a disaster. It felt like it had been built to last, and lovingly so, but never lived in. His rooms were sparsely furnished; nothing here hinted that Varik was an honored warlord of the Horde, a necromancer of the Shadowmoon Clan, a war hero. He had gone against the Draenei. Gone through the Portal, his wolf running alongside Ner'zhul's, been at all of the great battles, the sacking of the great city of Stormwind, driving panic into their enemies' hearts, and what was there to show for it? Bah. This was a damned fool, through and through…

Varik was done,or at least he hoped he was. The problem with this was that it was a leap of faith, and he had very little faith. He liked to test his spells, often, but he had no one to test this one on anyway. Even if there was anyone suitable, there was no time.

He rested a hand on his belly, contemplating. The healer was filled with narrow eyed concern, outraged by what he had been doing to himself, but Varik had simple pride. And that simple pride stated that no one would clean up his mess. No person alive would ever have the dubious honor, and repulsive memory of having wiped that up. He cast the spell, slowly, methodically, his voice rising and falling like a song. He measured, plucked, contemplated and felt the responses, everything must be absolutely correct. This was the one spell he could not fail. And he got only one chance at it.

He finished, and the room was silent. Calm. Nothing looked any different, for all of the power that he had just channeled. Nothing really even felt different. Had it worked? The power had risen, and now it was gone, imbued into his very flesh.

"No way but the obvious way." He muttered, stripping his clothes off and shrugging into a severe black robe. No way but the obvious way, except that the obvious way was a little beyond Varik's grasp. He wasn't strong enough to do this the correct way, he would be forced to do it the wrong way. He laid down on the altar, his touch light on the blade beside him. If I'm wrong…

If I'm wrong, I'm dead.

He chuckled. And if he was right…he was still dead. He held the blade up to the light, giving it one last glance. It was longer and slimmer than the ritual blade, but it would have to work. I can't do this.

Yes, yes you can. You must. It seemed as if the words came from beyond him, and Varik didn't quite realize his grip had tightened on the blade, reversed it, and the last thing he quite grasped was that it was over.

Lorka frowned, the keep seemed…smaller. Emptier. Less. Something had happened, something bad had happened, and it seemed like she was the only one who sensed it. She knocked lightly at Varik's door, a little disturbed at the silence beyond it. He'd been working, singing, chanting, growling and generally creating a comforting, if ominous clamor beyond its safety. Magic was rarely a silent endeavor, and his style was little different than hers.

"Lord Varik?" It was as if the very walls held their breath. There was no answer, and she cautiously opened the door. The room he used for casting was beyond, a disaster of candle stumps, sheets of paper, charcoal marked floor, the occasional chalked scribble on the walls…and the altar. Her stomach crashed and she moved into the room. He hadn't. He couldn't have. She walked dumbly up to the edge of the charcoal circle, not surprised when it leapt into glowing life at her approach. All she could smell was the thick, coppery smell of blood…it had gone old and stagnant. He had not died recently, the blood which had flowed down his side, pooled on the altar, and overflowed was spongy and clotted.

"No." She hissed, but he gave no answer. No response. He was held well beyond that.

Kargath Bladefist was rarely stunned, but today's news had managed that feat. He had read the missive three, four times before the words started to sink in. Varik, gone? A blade through his heart, held in his own hand? Dead on his altar? It had to be murder. Someone had to have assassinated the Deathcaller, somehow. He wouldn't have just given up, would he? Chosen the coward's way out? Why? Certainly Ner'zhul's loss was a blow, but Varik was a wise soul. He'd seen the light of insanity in Ner'zhul's eyes. Argued against it. He'd seen the insanity in so much of their tactics against Azeroth and…argued against it. Things were dark now, but Varik was a warlock. A necromancer. A Shadowmoon. He grew in the darkness. Kargath sighed, shook his head. There had always been some flaw in the way that the Blood had affected Varik. His gift had not been a true expression of blood rage... Kargath had seen the boy rage, and it was an unholy and impressive sight, but it flamed and flickered within him, not a steady burn. All too often, there had been a sadness in the boy's eyes. A self hatred. And he cried his doubts during the darkest of nights.

"Have Lord Varik's remains brought to the Black Temple." He sighed, crumpling the missive up and tossing it into the nearest brazier. "He will be laid to rest as befits his station." He would not deny that one's deeds. And they would consecrate the blood washed stones of Karabor with their own heroes' burials.

Tend the Deathcaller. Lorka sighed, shaking her head and gazing at the body resting before her. That had, up until very recently, suggested an encounter she'd be more than willing to be a part of. Then she'd be one of those who could smirk and nod when the chuckles around dull braziers turned to males and their prowess, and the whispers rose over this male, and his prowess. "You ass." She grumbled, glaring at the still corpse.

Why? Certainly not over Ner'zhul? The old one had been a weight dragging the Horde down since their loss in Azeroth. His insanity had been obvious. Kargath was going to be the force leading them to glory again, and Kargath thought the world of Varik's abilities.

She shook her head, growling. Of all the time to leave them, the Deathcaller chose now. He'd stood with them through the darkest of times, but bowed out now? She cautiously removed the simple black wrap robe he'd been wearing, closing her mind to the task. She was used to the dead, this was no different. Actually, he was easier to deal with; he was clean, and small enough to be easily handled. "You…" She sputtered in a sudden burst of outrage. He had been planning this since they'd arrived. That spell, laid out in grotesque detail in his keep, was to prevent another necromancer from exercising hubris and attempting to call the Deathcaller back. Varik would serve no other necromancer in his death. He'd been purging himself so he could be this…this clean, controlled…corpse. The only mess was the dried blood clotted down his belly, down his ribs. He'd spiked himself…not through his sternum, but coming up beneath it…as close to a proper ritual death as he could manage.

Which meant she was honor bound to send him there as best as she could manage. She didn't feel his spirit, but then, the Deathcaller had never seemed to have one. It was one of his strengths, never a weakness. Whatever he was, whatever it was, did not matter. He was one of theirs, and he was laid to rest as that. She wet a cloth and began to clean him, first rubbing away the dried rivulets of his blood from his skin. He seemed so much more than naked; the deep and compelling arcane markings that decorated his skin had vanished at his death. They had not been tattooed there; they had been part of him.

She ran her fingertips down his chest, regretfully . Such a loss. Such a waste.


	4. Chapter 4

"Yes, Rhonin, I do understand." Jaina sighed, shaking her head. He made sense, but she still didn't want to be here. His replying expression managed to be both grave and supportive.

"There are few enough of us that I feel comfortable doing this, Jaina. I wouldn't ask if that wasn't so."

True enough. Jaina shrugged, glancing around the dim, calm library. Who could be trusted to inspect the works held in Icecrown's library? Kel'thuzad's collections? Dark and powerful tomes, held spine to spine in case after case. "Where are the most questionable ones?" She finally asked, and he nodded, leading the way into a reading room. She could sense the power, the teetering pile of books almost seemed to plea, to whisper, and she sent it a sharply disapproving stare.

"We've gotten the locked cases open. These were what were in them, they are either Kel'thuzad's, or even older than that. These." He cautiously nudged a pile of books with a stylus, "Are in Orcish."

Jaina stared. They were covered in dust, but what caught, and held her attention, was their absolute silence. In a cacophony of read me open me I have the answers you want to know read me me me, that the other pile hissed; this one held a quiet baiting wait. She picked up the top one, it held power, but sent a subtle go away, you are not who I belong to when she ran fingertips down its cover. She rested her nose against its spine, it smelled of dust, ink, aged paper. Overall, a good sign. "It's in Orcish?" She doubted aloud, "It doesn't feel Orcish." Old Orcish works, if they survived, usually came in tablets or scrolls. These were books, leather bound, hand sewn, filled with pages of luminous vellum. They were too small, graceful, and she glanced at Rhonin. He shrugged, and gave a motion for her to open it.

She sighed, swallowed, and ignored the growing distaste that the book had for her touch, pulling open the cover. The shining pages were covered in a fine, strong script, inked with a steady hand using a razor sharp stylus. They flowed together, a turn away from the blocky, page eating Orcish works, but Rhonin was correct, they were indeed in Orcish. A beautiful, precise form of written Orcish she had never seen before. "Odd." She admitted, flipping through the pages. "Orcish…" She squinted at a page, "Warlock with wonderful penmanship."

"Whose works were very carefully kept under lock and key with Kel'thuzad's collection."

Jaina nodded, already pulling up the nearest seat into the best light falling from the great windows surrounding the room. She picked up the book on the top of the hinting, teasing pile, already aware that most of these would either be destroyed or sent into exile with other questionable works held in Dalaran. It would be quick work.

It was quick work indeed; it was barely dark when she rested fingertips on the uppermost of the Orcish tomes. Go away. Put me down. It grumbled, and she chuckled. These were always the most interesting, the best of the best. No one's true spellbooks ever wanted anyone but their owners to look at them.

"Hush, you." She breathed, opening the cover. "And who do you belong to?" That was not difficult to ascertain, oddly, it was written boldly on the very first page. "Varik Deathcaller, of the Shadowmoon clan." She'd never heard the name before, and that was a little unusual. "Who are you, Varik?"

"I am Varik, called the Deathcaller by my people. I belong to the Shadowmoon Clan. I belong to Ner'zhul. I belong to the Horde. I rode against Azeroth."

Jaina wrinkled her nose, both in thought and disgust. The spellbooks were powerful, their link to him still vibrant. The person who had penned them was not dead. Nor were they part of Thrall's Horde, she knew, by name and reputation, every single orc caster he had. Rode against Azeroth… belonged to Ner'zhul… that made this an older orc warlock. Who had lost his spellbooks to Kel'thuzad's safe keeping. That had probably been an ugly sight.

"Kel'thuzad?" He had a deep, booming spirit voice, much the same as any male orc. His orcish was older, precise, he spoke it with an ease that Thrall could not completely manage. She could only imagine what he had looked like in life, a giant male orc, eyes burning with fel energies. He'd have dark hair, dark eyes, craggy features… she let her mind wander with that as she kept turning pages.

"The lich. Who kept the library here." And this why Rhonin wanted her… the books were not sentient, they were a reflection of the knowledge of the man who had penned them. To touch them was to touch him, and the fewer did that, the better. They were not a temptation, they were worse, a full bore discussion. With an elder Orc warlock rooted in a very dark time.

"The shade. The servant of the Warchief and his other half. Yes, then, his safekeeping. There was no fight. He served Ner'zhul, I served Ner'zhul. Ner'zhul had the rights to them."

"Ner'zhul is dead." She stated calmly, flipping through the pages. But this one was not. How long before he decided that the Kirin Tor should not hold his spellbooks, since they were not any form of Ner'zhul or the Old Horde? That was the question. "But you aren't."

"Guess not."

And it was a flippant elder orc…not a reaction commonly found in one. No, that had not been flippancy; it had been a quiet marveling.

"Last spell. Last page. Last book."

She picked up the requested book and turned to the page. Necromancy, and this spell was firmly rooted in some form of it that she'd never seen before, was not her strong point. But the underlying formation was arcane in nature, and that she grasped without thought. Kill the body, and hold it at the moment of its death, by an intricate and amazing work of the arcane arts. Put the soul within it into such a deep sleep that he would appear…dead. With their ancestor spirits turned against them, the orcs would have had no way to determine that he was just feigning death. He would have been interred, alive, waiting…

"Where are you?"

"Not certain. They moved me."

"Who moved you?"

"Kargath Bladefist. He was going to take me down a path I never wanted to walk again. I had to escape it."

"Which path was that?"

"Another insane Warchief following the orders of a mad ruler. You have a pretty voice. You know my name…"

Jaina frowned, replacing the newest book at the bottom, and returning to reading the first of them again. "My name is Jaina, Jaina Proudmoore." And he had seen the clouds of Stormrage on the horizon? He had slipped away to avoid that? "I am a mage of the Kirin Tor, warlock."

"A human mage in Azeroth. That's why you are so far away. I understand. It was a pleasure to have met you, now kindly put my spellbooks away. They are not yours, and I do not give you permission to read them."

"You are just a shadow of an old orc warlock held at the precipice of death, probably on Draenor."

"Old? You call me old?"

"Go back to sleep, Varik. Wherever you are."

"I don't want to. Talk to me, it's been awhile."

"This isn't even truly talking to you." She mumbled, studying the pages. The original intent of skimming these to measure their danger to younger Kirin Tor archivists and others who might handle them was gone. All that was left was the respectful realization that she perused the thoughts of what had once been great. So gifted… "You fled Kargath?"

"No more insane Warchiefs. No more things ruling the Horde behind the scenes. No more Kil'jaeden. No more Magtheridon. No more…whatever Kargath was running towards."

"Illidan Stormrage. He has fallen."

"Most have, I sense. I slept it through." There was a long pause. "But Kargath buried me too well. I don't suppose you'd come get me?"

"You're insane. I don't know you, and what I do know of you isn't anything to be set free." And she had few doubts this one was brilliant, if he had been born human or any of the races accepted by the Kirin Tor, trained correctly, he would be high within the Kirin Tor. He might have practiced necromancy, studied the path of a warlock, but the breath through all of this was an innate grasp of arcane magic.

"True." There was a long, thoughtful pause. "But will you come get me?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jaina rested the pile of exiled tomes in front of Rhonin. "These need to go to Dalaran, to be cared for. The pile left in there…" She flicked fingers back at the reading room. "Needs to just go away. Permanently."

He glanced at the pile, then back at the room, squinting. "And the others?" He finally asked, and she shrugged, uncertainly.

"The orc warlock was involved in some fairly interesting arcane workings. I'd like to look at them further."

"Necromancy and the demonic arts have never appealed to you before, Jaina..." There was concern in his eyes, and she sighed, removing one of the books from her bag and opening it before him.

"No, but this is neither necromancy nor any expression of the demonic arts." She pointed at a passage that was purely arcane magic. "He was quite capable of pure magery, Rhonin. Which leads to some interesting questions."

He leaned over the page, running the barest touch of a fingertip over the written spell in question. "Orcs don't practice purely arcane magery." He flipped through the pages in silence. "But this one obviously did." He bit his lip for a moment, then nodded, closed the book and returned it to Jaina. "Definitely. Take a look into these."

"With pleasure." She could feel the warlock's attention fading… he had exerted himself too much. It was surprising he'd been able to hold the link with the spellbooks, to her, as long as he had. Draenor was a very long away from Icecrown. He'd sleep now, and give her time to go over his works in peace.

Theramore was a relief. It warmed her body, it warmed her soul. It breathed with life, and she took a deep breath of the thick sea air. She slung the bag of books over her shoulder and moved towards home. A bath, and then bed…

"Good evening, Jaina."

"Evening." Aegwynn was about the last person she wanted to deal with right then. Icecrown had brought too many memories, too many feelings that Jaina hoped were long dead, back to the surface. Aegwynn's view of those feelings were all too open. Jaina needed to find herself a nice archmage, have a baby or two, keep her precious bloodline going. But that had worked sooooo well for Aegwynn…

It would be nice, though, to feel a man's touch again. Not to worry about bloodlines, not to worry about whether or not he was focused on the allure of being with the great Jaina Proudmoore. Just a man. She was tired of doing for herself, but that was probably what she was going to do tonight. She was bad off if the memories of Arthas brought her to this level. No, it hadn't been that, it had been the mind voice of the orc, and that was even more desperate. At least Arthas had been human, at some point in time.

"Tomorrow, Aegwynn." She sighed, and the woman pulled back, her expression going liquidly calm.

"Of course, Jaina."

Jaina nodded, moving into her chambers and closing the door behind her. She removed the books and rested them on her desk, but felt little from them. He was asleep, far away, and it was almost depressing.

Lonely. She bit her lip against the sudden well of sadness. "You go in there." She muttered, resting the books in a warded cabinet and closing it. The last thing she needed was an orc warlock catching onto things he shouldn't.

She drew a bath, and settled into it, letting her fingertips trail over her body. This was stupidity, she knew that already. It would just leave her wanting more, but once she had gotten started, it was difficult to stop. Her breasts were heavy in her hands, and she slid them lower, between her thighs, stroking and pressing. It was her body, she knew exactly where to touch, where to press, but she still couldn't reach the same level of satiety that a partner would drive her to. She could come and come and come like this, and it would just leave her empty and aching. But she couldn't stop. Maybe Aegwynn was right, maybe all she needed to do was use some judicious polymorph spellwork, change her features, and find some fine young man in an inn somewhere far faraway from Dalaran, far away from Theramore.

"Ugh." She groaned, in equal lust and disgust. As she knew, the orgasm was fleeting and teasing. She needed more, or more of a distraction to get her mind off of it.

She stood, frowned, dried herself off, shrugged into a robe, and took the first of the warlock's spellbooks from the secured cabinet. It worked, exactly as she'd hoped, just an hour later, and she was well immersed.

"Jaina." He was beautiful, exactly as she'd thought he would be. He was beautiful, in that brutal, craggy, primitive way that male orcs perfected, heavy silvering black hair and dark green skin. His eyes smoldered with rage, like the older male orcs she knew… that was an aspect she almost missed in Thrall's clear blue ones. He wore dark, ominous robes, ornamented with pale skulls. His voice rumbled and growled, but his touch was almost gentle when he reached out and rested his hand behind her head. He smelled of musk and incense when he pulled her close, his hands working the knot of her robe. "Very nice." He chuckled when it parted, his fingers immediately upon her breasts. "Very, very nice."

She grasped the leather and wool of his robes, unlike hers; it didn't seem to want to lend itself to a sudden removal. It had straps, buckles, knots, and it was too much like work…

"Away." She hissed, and it fell to the ground at his feet. He growled in appreciation, moving in close enough to pick her up by grasping her buttocks. He pushed her against the wall, burying his face in her breasts, his fingers splitting her, readying her for him.

"Jaina?"

She fell into an immediate wakefulness, stifling the flow of curses that rose to her lips. Damn you, Aegwynn. Just a few moments more…

"I'm awake." She grumbled, shading her eyes when Aegwynn opened the curtains. It was bright outside, she'd most certainly overslept, but still, couldn't she have overslept just a little bit longer?

"What's this?" Aegwynn had picked up the spell book, and Jaina fought a rush of jealousy. What if he spoke? Opened the link to Aegwynn? And why did that seem so bad?

"A spell book." Jaina noted the obvious, climbing out of bed and opening her wardrobe.

"Written in orcish, sort of. The things you turn up with, Jaina."

"It is from Icecrown. We're inspecting the libraries there." Put it down, put it down…

"Ah." Obviously Aegwynn found it lacking, because she replaced it on its rest without a second glance. "Breakfast is waiting. And after that…"

"I have business to attend to." Why she'd said it, she wasn't quite certain. It was worth it to see Aegwynn pause, give her a level stare. "In Draenor." Four simple books were not nearly enough to be the width and breadth of this one's life work. These were dangerous books, they needed careful guarding. And maybe, she could measure whether or not he should be freed, or destroyed.

"Draenor? But..."

Jaina knew. She had never been there before. It was a dangerous place, even now. "I'm supposed to be one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth." She noted slowly, "Am I not equal to a place we sent our forces to?" It was supposed to have calmed a great deal with Kargath's fall, Illidan's fall. They were making great strides forward. "We turned our attention so fully and quickly to Icecrown, to Northrend, that we just let Draenor fall behind us. And if the orcs were capable of this…" She flipped the pages open at random, pointing at a particularly juicy example of arcane workings. "Maybe it's something the Kirin Tor should be paying attention to."

Aegwynn frowned, leaned in closer. "Orcs don't exercise a grasp of the arcane on that level."

"This one did. And if there's one…"

"There are probably more. Be careful, Jaina, there are still dark things in Draenor. "

And I think I'm going looking for one.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaina stared up. The Portal was all encompassing, a roiling, shifting, flowing glut of power that stunned even her. It swallowed reality when one stood this close, and Jaina was as close as she could get without actually committing to going through. This is stupid. She should just go home. Forget about this. Forget about him.

I've never seen Draenor.

Yes, well, there were plenty of places that Jaina had never seen. And, on some level, that was distressing. Shattrath? How dangerous could it be? It had draenei, it had naaru. Without conscious thought, she took that step, made that commitment; and stood, in awe and disbelief, on the terrace beyond. She had never seen a sky so huge…and black, even though it was daylight. The air was parched, completely dry. The ground was barren and red. It felt of disaster, tragedy, and she spun slowly.

"You are on Draenor."

And his spirit had awakened. He was closer to the surface than she'd been expecting, closer to awake. But if he was indeed, too well buried, he'd have to hold off until someone either came and got him, or stumbled across him. She'd prefer the former to the latter. At least she had some comprehension of what she was getting herself into, and a good belief that she could get herself out of it.

"Yes."

"Coming after me?" He sounded honestly hopeful, much less stoic than she was expecting.

"Yes. Any ideas where you might happen to be?" There were a few good things about being a mage, not a single soul on the terrace turned their heads to look at her as she stood, talking to herself.

"Shadowmoon Valley."

Wonderful. Wherever that was. Jaina had never paid that much attention to Draenor, there had been too many things in Azeroth holding her attention. There simply wasn't enough time in a day to do all the things she needed to, much less wanted to. Maybe this whole trip was a good thing, get away from it all. No one would come looking for her…here.

"Go to Shattrath."

She nodded, gazing around. Shattrath, there was a name she knew. It was a great sanctuary, and she would be fine there. No deep, dark, evil orcish warlock plot to destroy her. Just directions to the best place she could go, anyways.

"Lady…Proudmoore? We were not expecting you…" The voice came from beneath her line of sight, and she glanced down… at the Wildhammer dwarf eying her from a sparse collection of tents arrayed on the terrace's apron. "You travel to?"

The griffon behind him glared over his shoulder, and Jaina nodded. "Shattrath. I go to Shattrath." Even here, she was recognized. Known on sight, even though she had left her violet robes behind.

"We be proud to take you, Lady Proudmoore. It's a good, long ways, but we'll get you there safely." He seemed mollified by her answer, and she nodded, tightening her grasp on her bag and following him to the unamused griffon.

And it was just miles of more devastation, laid out before her as the griffon flew. This is what happens when you abuse the power you have. All of this, just a facet of that abuse of power. Mad, twisted power. Medivh's. Ner'zhul's. Gul'dan's. And very possibly, this Varik.

"Where are we going?" She asked after hours of flight, and the dwarf behind her chuckled.

"First leg stops at Honor Hold."

Jaina nodded. The only hope was that this Honor Hold had clean beds.

"There." The dwarf growled, and she chuckled. Leave the entire world, go to some place completely and totally alien, and come to a town that, except for the gulf of emptiness behind it, could be just a few miles from Stormwind proper.

They landed, and Jaina stared around. Yes, definitely. She didn't even need to ask, every inn looked alike, and that one was a dead ringer for Theramore's. "I will see you in the morning." She sighed, moving towards it.

She saw him, and fought the sigh. So damned imposing. So brutally male. He moved from shadow to shadow, moving in the hunched, rolling gait of a mature male orc. "Jaina?" He asked, moving closer.

"Where are we?" She asked, gesturing, and he shrugged, the skulls on his shoulders green in the sickly light. "Shadowmoon Valley." He stated, coming up to stand beside her. He was massive, and he felt both safe and ominous at the same time. "As it is now."

That was a tone she recognized all too well. Those who had come from this one's time, who still had enough of themselves left to start putting their souls back together, had that remorse. Even Thrall, who was blameless, spoke of Draenor with the same shame.

"Gul'dan's rage and insanity knew no bounds." He sighed, "The blood was all consuming."

"But you took it, as well." That was all too obvious from his books… too many sections had spells that relied on that power source and its bent. Varik had drunk from the font of Mannoroth's blood, and had drunk of it deeply.

"I did, yes." He slid his hands into his sleeves and stared pensively at the gloomy horizon before him. "By that time, I was damned anyway. There was no way up the slope I was on; the only way to keep going was to go down."

"But you want to go free now." And every mote of wisdom that Jaina possessed screamed that was folly. Release this?

He smiled ruefully, his craggy brows dropping in amusement. "Of course I want to go free now, Jaina. Ner'zhul is gone. Gul'dan. Kargath. Rend. Even Mannoroth. I can be free of them all. For the first time, I can live as I see fit."

"On Azeroth." It came out as an accusation, and he glanced down at her.

"Then go home, Jaina. I will find another…" He gestured in her direction, a quick motion, and she was awake, resting on the finest bed that the Honor Hold inn had to offer. There was nothing but a complete silence when she thought in his direction, he was not asleep, he had cut her out.

"Damn it." She hissed, throwing on the closest robe…the same she'd worn yesterday, stained red from travel dust. Another? If that was released by any of a number of entities willing to, they could have a truly terrible situation on their hands. But who to go to with this? Thrall would have been her first choice to handle a rogue orc with ancient aspirations, but he was gone now. Garrosh? No. Her mind could come up with too many ends to that one, and few were good. Rhonin? No. He was too cautious. He'd destroy Varik and then try and figure out what he was.

"I am Jaina Proudmoore. Supposedly the finest. Surely I can handle an orc warlock?"

Surely. Without help. Mind settled, she packed and went out into the desolate yard, striding towards the stable that the griffons were kept in. She could make it to Shattrath by herself. She could make it to Shadowmoon. And she could deal with this Varik. He obviously hadn't been good enough to keep himself from needing to play dead for the past couple of decades…

"Mornin', Lady Proudmoore." The same dwarf greeted, "Just getting ready. Have you in Shattrath before nightfall."

It was a long journey to Shattrath. Jaina was happy to see the red desolation give way to hills, mountains, and finally, a deep forest. The place wasn't entirely destroyed. There was still life here.

She saw the pillar of light thrown up from the great naaru well before she glimpsed the city laid out beneath her, and without request, her griffon did a fly over before settling on solid stonework. Shattrath was smaller than she'd been expecting, tucked into the side of a rise of hills, and she stared around wide eyed. Something entirely new, a place she'd never been, sights she'd never seen. She'd been in one place for too damned long. For a second, she debated hiding beneath the hood of her cloak, but gave up the idea before it even completely formed. She couldn't hide if she wanted to.

"Excuse me." She demanded of the nearest male draenei who looked vaguely guard like, and was a little surprised to see absolutely no recognition in his eyes. "Where can I find an inn? And maps?" With Varik sulking, she wasn't going to get help from his direction. If he honestly thought she was going to turn around now, he had another thing coming….

The draenei gazed at her dubiously, before pointing behind him with one massive hand. "Best inn is that one right there." He stated. "Maps of?"

"Draenor. The lands between here and Shadowmoon Valley."

He wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste. "Shadowmoon Valley is southeast of here, several days travel. It is not a good place to go."

No, Jaina had grasped that from Kirin Tor intelligence, missives, letters, and lately, Varik's shadowy memories. He sensed it to be a twisted, sickly place, and she was willing to guess he had it correct. "Right." She agreed, unwilling to be drawn into an argument. "That inn right there?"

"Yes, that one." She recognized his stare, but had little patience with it. He'd just try to talk her out of going, and the further she came, the less willing she was to turn back. Obsession? She frowned, paused, contemplated. She'd heard, read, that same drive before and sudden worry rose in her heart. Had there been some spell attached to those spellbooks? Something she had missed? Was she pushing headlong to her own downfall?

"Eh, what?" Varik, sleepy and befuddled. "You're closer. Shattrath. Damned naaru. I can barely hear you."

She almost laughed, in all this time; she'd never heard anyone describe the naaru with such irreverence. But then, from what she grasped of his past would most certainly put him at odds with them. She sighed, just one more issue in getting to him. Once she made it there, she could return to Theramore as easily as breathing, and bringing him along would be just a hair more difficult. "Go back to sleep." She breathed, "I'm still coming for you."

"Thank you." He murmured, slurred and childlike. She shook her head, both at the idea that this soul could be childlike, and that she was actually out here, doing this. It was insanity, and she wasn't known for such stupidity. But maybe that was why she was out here. Maybe she was tired of being the solution to everyone else's stupidity. Her life was no longer her own.

"I don't suppose you know the best way there." She growled, and she had to stop when a sudden flurry of images played through her mind, maps, paths, stunning vistas of crashing waves under a veil spangled horison. He was growing in strength, focus, and the naarus' vicinity could only hamper him so much.

Finally the image fixated in her mind, a map. "This is the best I know. It's of dubious accuracy at this point, but it should give you some idea. The finer points of how to get from there to here... I cannot say anymore. Things will have changed."

Undoubtedly, but the clear grasp in his head was all she needed. His belief was that he had undergone the ritual southeast of Shattrath, south of something he knew as the Altar of Damnation. She sighed, shaking the link away and striding towards the inn. He let it drop without complaint or attempt to recover it, but she could sense him lurking, wide awake, just on the other side of it. She was a fool. An idiot. Years of responsible service to Azeroth and her people, and she was here to release that? Now was the worst time to give the Horde a returning champion...

He remained stubbornly silent, even though she was well aware he picked up on her thoughts. She had come too far to turn back now, something he was probably counting on.

"Shhhh. The naaru have ears. Well, no...but you know what I mean. A'dal is a nosy sod. Think of something else. Butterflies and rainbows."

Butterflies and rainbows indeed, difficult to do. "What would you know of butterflies and rainbows?" She retorted, striding into the inn. It was packed, noisy, and filled with riffraff. Good.

She rented a room, climbed the stairs and vanished into the relative peace and privacy beyond. A couple of gestures later, and she was somewhat assured of more privacy. It would never be as secure as home, but it would have to do.

"What do I know of butterflies and rainbows?" He pondered the question once she had secured the room. "This?"

She was standing on a small rise, on a windswept plain. The grass flowed and whispered around her, butterflies as large as her hand fought the breeze to land on painted flowers bending and swaying to elude them. The air was scrubbed clean, smelling of honey and rain, and before her, a vast rainbow arched over the darkened horizon which marked the storm's path away. A handful of birds began a wary song, punctuated by the deep rumble of thunder... she was gently thumped out of a reverie by the great war wolf beside her thumping its skull against her thigh..."

And in spite of everything, he still grasped beauty and peace, the majesty of the world around him. Surely that was still redeemable? "Lovely. Where is that...or was?"

"Is, I believe. The plains of Nagrand, unfortunately it is the opposite direction to where I happen to be. Perhaps later?"

Later. She should have been miffed, or put on edge, by his assumptions, but wasn't. What was the point in going after him if there wasn't going to be a later?

"An up to date map would be greatly appreciated."

Yes, and she could use some food that didn't come out of a dwarf's pack. She sighed, changed clothes, and went downstairs. A few silver later, and she had a decent meal and what was promised to be an accurate map. She carried them both upstairs, unrolling the map on the table and staring at it. The area in his mind still existed, and was even still attached to what remained of the mainland continent...barely.

"I know. It was precarious the last time I came here on my own wolf's feet."

And would only grow worse as time went on. She really didn't want to go chasing him in the Twisting Nether that surrounded Outlands, she could probably find him, but it sounded like too much work, and there was too much danger to a warlock trapped in sleep out there. It was a miracle he hadn't been discovered before now.

"But it looks to closely match what I remember. And the changes I see will make it easier for you to travel here."

"Dwarves are notoriously nosy." She muttered, her gaze locked on the icon that marked a dwarven settlement smack dab on the quickest route to his location.

"They already know you are here."

True enough. And the less time she was 'here', the better. She needed to move quickly, before people started to ask questions. But first, she needed sleep. The morning would be soon enough to head out.

Her fear, and darkly, her hope was that he would return to her dreams that night, but she sensed he was worn, exhausted, pulling into himself. She woke with the vast understanding that she was running out of time. "No." She growled when she felt him stir and reach out. "You go back to sleep. And you stay that way. I am coming, trust me in that."


	7. Chapter 7

Sleep. Varik didn't want to, but he understood her point. He was reaching the breaking point, the point where his fake death could become all too real. But sleep was filled with things he didn't like, wanted to avoid, wanted to obliterate. It had been so long since there had been anyone to speak to, to engage his mind in something other than his situation. Trust? When was the last time he'd done that? But what other choice did he have now...she truly was his only hope. He just had to believe, curl up in the vast, echoing emptiness of his soul, and sleep until she came to get him. It was all beyond his control, just like so many things had been in his life. There was nothing novel here, life just carried on with its usual disinterest.

Whiny little fool. He sighed, doing his best to distance himself from his predicament. Without that distance, he'd never sleep, even if he was exhausted.

Things couldn't be helped, much as Jaina would prefer to do this as quietly as possible, the safest, fastest, easiest way to get to Varik was to impose upon the dwarves some more. She was leaving a blazing trail behind her, a trail that a blind man could follow, but once she had Varik in her possession, and back in Theramore, the world could wonder as long as they liked about what had brought her out to the wilds of Shadowmoon Valley. "I want to go to Wildhammer Stronghold." She told the dwarven flightmaster manning the stable on Shattrath's middle tier, and the dwarf stared back at her in disbelief.

"Lady Proudmoore?" He echoed, "That's not a safe place."

She glared at him in response. Hyjal had not been a safe place, either, but she'd been there at the most desperate of times. And that was just the greatest in an entire series of unsafe places that Jaina had been called to...in Azeroth's defense. Funny how they overlooked her safety when she was needed, but now that no one had called her, it was tossed up in her face. "Have you been there?" She asked sweetly, and he blinked at her tone.

"Why, of course!"

"You seemed to have survived the experience. Now are you going to take me, or do I have to find another who will...?"

"I will, I will." He gave in quickly enough, moving away, grumbling loudly under his breath. He came back a few minutes later, leading a large, white griffon who gazed at Jaina solemnly. "We'll get you to Wildhammer within the day, Lady Proudmoore." The dwarf swore, and she only nodded, clambering up behind him after he settled into the saddle.

She could feel him just begging to ask, and she did not give any hint that she knew he was desperate to know. Not his business, not his concern. And if all went well, she'd probably never see him again in her life. "You ever been to Terokhar, Lady Proudmoore?" He finally asked, when the silence became devastatingly long.

"Never been to Outlands before." She admitted, watching the forest flow beneath her. It was lovely, it would be counted as a jewel anywhere on Azeroth, And from what she'd seen in Varik's memories, this 'Nagrand' would qualify as well.

"Och. Parts of it are lovely, still." There was a sadness in his voice, "But not so in Shadowmoon. It's a darkened, twisted place now, not fit for man nor whole beast. So many ghosts, so much wrong done there. Just be careful."

In spite of her annoyance, she understood the honest warning and concern she heard. "Once I get what I come here for, I will return to Theramore. By a portal of my own making." It wasn't what he wanted, but it was what he was going to have to settle for. Like it or not, she'd come here for something, and she was leaving with it. Even if she had to deal with it later, harshly, she couldn't go on with her life as if nothing had happened, as if she was unaware.

The road they'd been following for hours wound its way through the same great pine trees, but Jaina could see that the ground was rising, breaking up into a sudden set of foothills. And there, off to one side, a ruined Orcish settlement, a silent reminder of a less than majestic history. "The pass is coming up, Lady Proudmoore, hold on tight, we may need to take some evasive moves."

Evasive? Jaina wrapped her arms around his stout waist, squinting ahead, over his shoulder. Oddly enough, the griffon began to lose altitude, choosing to skim just above the beaten path twisting upwards. The rocks were the same sullen, bloody hue as the ones exposed and barren in Hellfire, and they suddenly tilted as the griffon sharply banked to avoid incoming flak.

Flak? Jaina jerked her head around to see where the ball of blue energy had come from, and hissed when she caught a good look at the encampment of demons on the ground. Of course, she was an idiot. The Burning Legion controlled much of Outlands, they'd used it as a staging base against Azeroth. She'd been expecting orcs. Apparently she'd get more than just that, and she ran through what could be here on the ground. The list was distressingly long, and she sighed in disgust, tightening her grip on the silent dwarf and the dodging griffon.

Thankfully, it was not a very big encampment, although it was full of things that Jaina had not seen since the Battle of Hyjal, and the memory of that chased a chill down her back. It had been easy to consider those things gone, but they obviously weren't. And more worrisome, yet more intriguing, were the things in the encampment that she didn't know. Another time, definitely. Right now she had an orc warlock to recover.

It was late by the time the griffon angled down towards a massive, sheltered fortress resting in the shadow of a rise of rocks. Dwarven construction, so desperately out of place under the sickly green sky and dead gray ground. "Are they expecting you?"

No, no one was. The only one who had the slightest idea she was coming was deeply asleep, on the edge of her perceptions. At least he had finally given up, and was conserving what little of himself he still had left. "No one is expecting me." She sighed, sliding off of the griffon when it finally landed in the main courtyard of the keep. Her legs trembled under her weight, but that should be her last longterm griffon ride on this jaunt. She wasn't as young as she used to be, that was an honest and sobering realization. Was that why she was out here? One last hurrah? One last impulsive, impetuous act? Chasing a name and a voice out to the depths of Outlands? She grinned in spite of herself, yes, perhaps it was. And if it was that, then she intended to enjoy every last damned minute of it. It was refreshing to be here, away from Theramore, away from her responsibilities and duties. Life had become so methodical lately, and archmages didn't do well on an unrelieved diet of mundane tasks.

But he was so close...she could feel him. If only she wasn't so tired, she'd be tempted to go after him without pause, but it was growing dark. Impulsive, yes. Stupid, no. Tomorrow would just have to be soon enough. She straightened her back and stared at the growing collection of dwarves come to see Jaina Proudmoore in the flesh. Just once, she'd like to be anonymous, but that wasn't going to be tonight.

But it wasn't as bad as she feared. Without warning of her stay, there had been no preparations made. Without preparations, they were willing to show her to a small room, bring her a tray of food, and leave her alone. She ate, but was then drawn to the window, staring out. It began as a blank, exhausted gaze, but then she raised a brow, leaning closer. "Oh, my." She chuckled, realizing that the bright circle low on the horizon was not a moon, but was in fact Azeroth. She was so far from home, and it was a glorious realization.

"Time to get some sleep." She muttered, moving to the bed and settling down. Tomorrow was going to be a rough day.

It was hot, and the odd greenish tint to the half hearted light had given Jaina a headache hours before she finally clambered onto a rise of rocks and got a good look around. She felt like she was at the top of the world, and quite bluntly, on the edge of it as well. The ground just ended, about a half mile away from her, opening onto nothingness. She had been climbing all morning, most of the time aided by her ability to blink over the buckled, warped, upthrusts of mangled, knife edged rocks.

"You couldn't have picked a more difficult place to get to if you tried, Varik." She growled, shaking her head. It was almost as if this was truly purposeful, instead of a useful accident. But it had kept him away from those that he wished to remain hidden from, long enough for her to come get him. "How did they get you here in the first place?"

He didn't answer, tranquilly at rest, and she only nodded. The answer was obvious, had she been to where she was going, she could have just teleported there. If she was more certain of what she would appear in, and knew where there was ground...and more importantly, where there was not, she could just appear there. Those who had interred him up here knew what she did not.

Another rock crashed close by and she barely glanced in its direction. She'd woven an enchantment over herself, to protect her from a direct strike, but the sky itself rained flaming shrapnel to hinder her way and to make a griffon ride an impossibility. It was as if the world itself hid him...

But no longer. Her vantage point looked out over a drop into a small bowl of cleared ground, with a precariously leaning orcish tower, another clump of rocks, and then...the nether beyond.

"Time to get this done." She said, rubbing her hands against her filthy thighs. There would be spells, charms, wards, guards...all matter of enchantments blocking the way to him. Probably even demons.

Or...absolutely nothing. The door gave her problems, but they were strictly mundane problems, a door set into a doorway that had shifted when the building's intregity had been undermined. It was hopelessly stuck, and she had to burn it loose with mage fire. Again, something to turn people away, all without the hint of magic. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but Jaina had not made it this far by believing in too many of those. The whole thing just felt off. Tampered with.

"Who would hide you, Varik?" She questioned the smoldering door, but it, and Varik, remained silent in response. Was there even a Varik? Or had she fallen for the most unlikely of baits? A wild trap to get Jaina Proudmoore out in the middle of nowhere, on the very edge of Outlands, alone?

Nothing. Not even the most elementary of wards. The most basic of traps. Just a breathless wait in the electified air. She stepped cautiously into the first room, touching the wall next to her. It seemed fairly stable, unless one of those really big burning rocks hit in the next half hour, it wasn't going anywhere.

But the room was empty, desolate, and she pushed on. The next room was larger, and filled with the blush of magic she'd been waiting for. It was tightly constrained, locked in here, as small a footprint as possible. At least three differing types of magics, a dizzying blur of obfuscation, wardings, protections, and locks. No wonder he couldn't make it out on his own, it was a miracle he could work the spellbooks as a keystone with these enchantments in place.

This had not been the original place of his interment, the sarcophagus had been dragged across these tiles, shattering them in a path from the door to where the stone coffin had been left. Iron loops had been driven in, through the decorative, painted tiles, deeply into the stone floor foundation, and a chain forged from iron bars as thick as her thumb had been passed through them, wrapped over the coffin.

"Someone really wanted to keep you here." It should have been a warning, it should have made her rethink this, but for some reason, it just presented itself as a challenge that only she could overcome. Only she was worthy.

But it wasn't as if she was going to open him here, surrounded by magics that he hadn't even woven. No, she fully intended to remove him to a more controlled, safe place for all of this, chains, floor, and all. At home, she'd have the time to study the arcane workings woven into this, she'd have the security and resources she needed for a good outcome. And she'd have all of the advantages of her home sanctum if this went badly. Aegwynn. An open route to Dalaran...back up a moment away.

She expected some problem moving the entirety of the floor, its substrata, and the sarcophagus, but it gave no issues whatsoever, appearing almost completely intact, centered on her main laboratory circle. Nothing. Not even a peep from its occupant, the only sound was the delicate chime of tile fragments hitting the floor.

"How droll." Aegwynn stated from the doorway. "Redecorating?"

"Hardly." Jaina sighed, dragging the nearest chair to where she could stare at her find, but still sit while she did it. "Late first war orcish is not my preferred style." She sank into the chair, breathing in air that smelled of sea and life, not brimstone and electricity. Now that she was home, she was comfortably exhausted, and at ease with that.

"So this is our wayward, arcanely gifted, orc warlock?"

"It is."

The pale haired woman nodded, circling the edges of the shattered floor cautiously. "Someone went out of their way to keep him down." She finally noted, caution dripping from her syllables. "You haven't been yourself since you got those books, Jaina." So much care, but then who would know better what trouble Jaina could get herself by opening that than Aegwynn?

"I know."

"Hmmm. But you went anyway. You brought him back here, anyway. Some things just have to be done."

Not exactly the statement that Jaina was expecting, and she gazed back at Aegwynn silently. "So, what needs to be done?" Aegwynn continued, staring at the coffin across the gulf of shattered tile flooring. "To open that?"

"He's too fragile to just open it. " Much as Jaina wanted to rip the chains open like a child with a Winter's Veil present, wisdom told her it was a grave mistake. She'd kill him. As it was, she was fearful that it was too late, she had to be careful. She had to be patient. "I have to bring him out of this slowly." And, if it was necessary, that might give her time to regain her sanity.

She touched the outer edge of her circle, powering it slightly, feeling the surge hit the spellworks surrounding him. It raised a chain of reactions, the first was a spellworking she was familiar with...his. This was the section of floor that he had worked the near death ritual upon. His blood stained it, strengthened it, fed it. Whoever had removed him from it had damaged it, and whoever had replaced him had never repaired it. And yes, he'd been replaced, by whomever had driven the spikes to imprison him...damaging the spell even more.

But why replace him on an unfiltered source of his own power, then imprison him there? Killing him in this state would have been beyond easy. And since he slept most of the time, it truly didn't qualify as torture, at least none that she comprehended. "Moved. Buried elsewhere. Returned later. Locked down." Aegwynn muttered, still circling. "Orcs don't bury their dead, they burn them, or expose them."

"The orcs of that time weren't particularly concerned with remaining true to tradition." Jaina mumbled, watching the play of magic flow. It wasn't her best work, there were too many frayed portions, breaks, knots in the pattern, but it would keep him stable for now. "Maybe they were afraid he'd get up later and walk off." Which seemed to be precisely what he had planned to do.

Part of the pattern, the death ritual, highlighted in blue light, and Aegwynn raised a brow. "I can't imagine where they would have gotten that particular idea. But it's not like he's going anywhere right now, you are correct that he's too fragile to wake up. So you need a bath and some sleep. You stink like demons."

And that sounded like an absolutely lovely idea.

Leaving him alone, with a gradually increasing trickle of power was one of the most difficult things that Jaina had ever managed. Thankfully there was a mountain of tasks to distract her, but when those had calmed down and her rooms were silent, she moved back into the laboratory, staring at the coffin across the tiled expanse littering the floor.

He was so silent, it was odd that she missed his voice...

"Those chains need to come off, Jaina. They're affecting the power absorption." Aegwynn stated from the shadows, and Jaina blinked in surprise.

"You've been here the whole time?" She asked, contemplating. It didn't seem like the chains were there to disturb the power flow purposefully, it truly seemed like they were there to hold the coffin down, and closed. But they were creating a bridge for the power to flow over and around, not through, the runeworkings.

"Of course I've been here the whole time. You brought a dying, gifted warlock from the Old Horde here, enchantments and all."

"Where better than here?" Jaina asked, resting a cautious foot on the crumbling edge of flooring. It held her weight easily enough, and she moved closer, focused on the eddies of power around her. So much differing flotsam, remnants, all contradictory.

She rested her fingertips on the chain, taking a deep breath and judging it. No, it was simply what it was. A chain, bolted to the floor. Not even a pinprick of magic involved. A physical means to an end. If he hadn't been so drained, it would have been nothing for him to escape.

Nothing to escape. It holds the coffin in place on the workings. It keeps it from shifting as the foundation moves. Someone knew enough to return the coffin, but didn't understand the finer points of the ritual. Or they did, but there no other way to plant it firmly at the nexus of the ritual. As long as the floor survives, the coffin remains affixed. And the lid stays down, so even if it tilted, he wouldn't fall out. It's clueless, but well intentioned.

"Off." She ordered, and the crude lock gave way with a pop. The chains fell, the runes powered, and she blinked out of the way, returning to Aegwynn's side. Unencumbered, the workings began to gain power, exactly as they were supposed to, and once it began, the cascade was unstoppable. Any idea that she would have time to reconsider this was gone, he'd be awake in a matter of hours now.

She gave Aegwynn a sideways glance, but the woman only shrugged in response. "It wasn't as if you were going to change your mind, Jaina." She said, and Jaina sighed in response. That was all too true. Once she had gone to Outlands, she had sealed this. "Let's get the lid off." Aegwynn said, striding arrogantly over the shattered tiles, "So we can hopefully get a good look before he regains conciousness."

Wise enough idea, and Jaina was dying to know. Together, the two of them pushed the lid away and warily stared inside. "Oh, my." Aegwynn breathed into a silence that Jaina couldn't bring herself to break. "That is most certainly not what I was expecting!"


	8. Chapter 8

"I...don't understand." Jaina whispered. "How can this be?" The wrong person. How in the hell could she have rescued the wrong bloody person?! All of that, the trip through Outlands, and she'd never bothered to make sure she'd gotten the right one! "I was in the right place!" She ground out through locked teeth. "Aegwynn! Stop laughing! This isn't amusing at all!" Somehow, the great Jaina Proudmoore had gone full sail out to Outlands to rescue an orcish warlock, and brought back this. It was incomprehensible that she could have made such a mistake. Everything was correct... No. It wasn't. Varik had never been completely certain where he was. Tracing him through the spellbooks had taken her, not to him, but to his tower...where someone had decided to take advantage of an aging, fading spell to try to stave off a loved one's death. It was a sad and desperate idea, and she bowed her head in a sudden rush of empathy.

"Well." Aegwynn stated calmly, "It's not a terrible mistake, Jaina. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being releasing Sargeras onto the world, it's maybe a half. If that. You rescued someone from a truly untenable situation. It just didn't happen to be the ancient orc warlock that you went after."

Jaina sighed in disgust. No, it didn't happen to be the ancient orc warlock that she had gone after, it was a perfectly normal human man. Not bad looking, either, he'd probably be very easy on the eyes with a shave, a haircut, a bath, and some weight put on him. "Let's get him out of there." She said, giving a quick, flicking gesture and elevating him out of the coffin's cavity. "He can't have been there for long, unless he was with the Alliance Expeditionary Force." And that was a distinct possibility, she had found him just a couple of miles from Wildhammer Stronghold. That was the first time that humanity had set foot on Draenor...

"He can't have been there before Varik cast that spell. And we have a decent idea of when that was."

After the return of much of Ner'zhul's forces to Outlands after they had been pushed back from Azeroth. Again, it timed it well to the lost Expedition. And yes, if he was a survivor of that, then he deserved a rescue just as much, or probably more, than any ancient orc warlock did. She felt low, small, but she'd been looking forward to meeting the source of the voice in her head. Selfish, foolish...

She placed him down on the bed in her guest chambers, studying him in the light. He wasn't a terribly young man, there were small paths of silver in his heavy reddish blond hair, and faint lines at the corners of his closed eyes. If she had to guess, and if he was untouched by the flow of magics he'd been exposed to, she'd say he was in his early to mid thirties. "Nice." Aegwynn said again, and Jaina sighed, shaking her head and resting the back of her hand against his brow.

"Yes, yes, yes." She scolded. "Nice, under all of that hair." And utterly, completely dead, in an arcane way. All she sensed was Varik's spell casting flowing through him, he was built like a warrior, and dressed in some sort of caster robe which didn't even come close to fitting him. It certainly was not his. In fact, she had no idea whose it could be, because it was way too big on him, but he was no small man. "He feels like Varik." She puzzled, the weight of the arcane signature should be fading since he was taken away from it, but it was growing...

Aegwynn galvanized into motion, sinking her fingers deeply into the lapels of his robe and pulling it open. "Jaina..."

Jaina sat back, stunned. There, just under the bottom edge of his sternum, a black, open puncture wound, completely unhealed and beginning to weep a thin line of pale blood. Carved into the flesh of his left pectoral, and darkened with ash, the crescent moon sigil of the Shadowmoon Clan. His hair...the remains of a traditional male orc's glory, missing the ornaments that would have made it obvious. "This is Varik." Aegwynn breathed.


	9. Chapter 9

Varik had never felt worse in his entire life, and he had been through a great many painful and truly uncomfortable things in his time. It felt as if the insides of his lungs were coated in acid, it hurt to breathe. It hurt to stop breathing. It hurt to live. That was it, he was waking up...finally. This too would pass, because he was coming out of the other side. He'd prevailed. It had paid off. He just had to suffer through this the same way he had suffered through pain before. It passed. It always passed. Drinking from the Chaos Well had brought agony, but that had faded in due time. Everything he'd done had come at the price of his pain, why should now be any different? He just had to breathe his way through it. Lock his jaw, set his gaze, and be the Deathcaller.

"Are you awake?" A woman's voice, wary, but concerned, speaking a language he had to struggle to remember. He finally got up the nerve to open his eyes, and admit that he was awake. Ah, no...two women, one on either side of the bed he rested in. Both blondes, the one who had spoken, the one on his right, had bright blonde hair, a nose slightly too large for her face, and a wide mouth...currently set in an ungiving line. The one on his left had surreally platinum hair, and an equally unlikely beauty. She set his nerves on edge the first moment he got a good look at her, and the coiling power he sensed under that all too good to be true exterior upheld that feeling. Dangerous. Something to avoid.

She laughed as if he had spoken it aloud, and he narrowed his eyes at her. Definitely. She felt otherworldly, like a dragon, she was not what she appeared to be. The other one was, and he was comforted by it. "Varik Shadowmoon."

"Yesssss?" He was used to this part. It was still annoying after all this time, but it still played out, unchanged.

"You're not an orc." The one with the bright blonde hair accused bitterly, and he stared at her. That voice, he knew it...

"I never claimed to be, Jaina." It was too damned soon for this, he was too tired. Everything still hurt. "I am Varik Shadowmoon, the Deathcaller, Warlord of the Horde..." And not nearly the equal of the fuzzy, warm darkness rising up to lay claim to him again.


	10. Chapter 10

"It doesn't make any sense." Jaina murmured, lifting the bandage off of his chest. "But yes, this is Varik." The soul that had written those spellbooks, the ones that sat tranquilly in her library now that their owner was close by and waking. A man, a human man, with a full blown orcish introduction. A man with the power that those books promised, rising, flowing, just under his skin.

"Wonderful."

"Why?"

Aegwynn tilted her head, "You were so excited to go get him, Jaina. Breathless, but now that you've gotten him, you're disappointed. Why? He's still Varik, apparently. Still that warlock. And I can feel his gift in every fiber of his being. You wanted him to be an orc, not..." She waved a hand at the slumbering man splayed out on the bed.

"I..." She what? "He looks too much like Arthas."

She didn't need to see Aegwynn's dubious look to know it was there. The man actually looked absolutely nothing like Arthas, except that he was human, male, and blond. But none of the details fit.

"Bullshit." Aegwynn snorted. "And it's sad that is the answer you give me instead of the truth. You're less threatened by an orc than you are of a man."

"Ridiculous. He's just not..." What? "Terribly impressive." She settled on, and shrugged when the older woman stared back. "I could find that..." She waved her hand at him, "At the inn here in Theramore."

"You could find an ancient orc warlock, a warlord, a servant of Ner'zhul, who happens to be a human man, in the inn here? You'd have trouble finding a human male who could carry off that particular ritual in the Violet Citadel, Jaina. And really, he has been dead for the past couple of decades. I think you might possibly be judging his lack of impressiveness prematurely, did you expect Varik, the orc, to bounce out of death's grip and impress the hell out of you?"

Yes. But when put that way, Jaina saw it was indeed foolish. "It still doesn't make any sense." She said, eying the closing wound. "The timing is so far off."

"With magic, all things are possible."


	11. Chapter 11

Varik felt as if he had been drifting just under awake for hours, when conciousness decided to cough him up and spit him out. He opened his eyes to a shadowed ceiling, the flow of curtains cascading in a strong breeze, that smelled of home. No. It wasn't home, Shadowmoon hadn't had an ocean in years, Draenor hadn't, not since Gul'dan had cracked it open like an empty egg.

And he wasn't dead. He carefully extricated himself from the bed, cautiously balancing on wobbling legs, taking a long moment before he trusted himself to step out onto the balcony beyond the curtains and take a long look around.

A seaport, an Alliance seaport, slumbering in what was either dawn or twilight. The last time he'd seen one of these, he'd come to help grind it into the dust under his bootheels. Not today. Probably not tomorrow, either. He frowned, it was all so foreign, uncomfortable.

"You're up. You shouldn't be."

He refused to answer her, since none of the replies he came up with were useful or adequate. She did not own him. She had no right to cluck over him like a broody hen. But his first reaction would probably leave him wandering around the balcony, bleating his little heart out until the polymorph wore off. He had to behave, for now. He had never expected to be asleep for the length he had been, everything would have changed.

"But I am." He stared out over the town, He was free, he was loose, there was not an orc in sight. He should be exuberant, he'd done the impossible. He'd escaped. Instead, he felt only drained, emptied, and adrift. He even struggled to find the correct words now.

"You seem contemplative." Jaina breathed, leaning against the railing and matching his gaze. He wrinkled his nose, it sounded all too much like the common orc 'you're thinking too much' indictment, but she sounded like she was impressed, or pleased. That was a rare reaction. "Over what?"

"I'm trying to decide if it's dawn or dusk." He gave up fighting for the words in common and let them flow from him. "I'm trying to decide if the emptiness I feel is physical, spiritual, both, or more. And I'm trying to remember the last time I smelled quite this awful."

Her reactions flowed across her face, openly, ending with a half hearted smile. "Well." She replied in serviceable orcish, "It is dusk. That is west." She inclined her chin behind them, towards the sun low on the horizon. "And while I cannot say when the last time before this one was, I can say now that you don't seem like a drowning risk, tonight will be the end of the current awful smell." She tapped her fingertips thoughtfully against the carved stone, "You really do have trouble speaking common."

He growled in disgust, locking his jaw. He felt like he had a child's vocabulary when he tried to speak it, and it lamed his thoughts into simplistic, shallow concepts. He should speak it better, somewhere, beyond the veil of his memories, he had once been fluent enough in it. It was his native tongue, but it was a shadow, an echo of something he had tried to obliterate within himself. He had almost succeeded... "A bath would be most appreciated."

"Of course. And clothes that come closer to fitting you." She almost said something, he caught the hint of it, unsaid, on the breeze, but she cut it off and he remained silent. "Come with me." She sighed in disgust, and he frowned, measuring that. No, she was disgusted with herself, not at him...although he was pretty damned disgusting at that moment. He nodded deeply, falling into step behind her. "Bath." She said, as if he was incapable of figuring that out for his own, waving at a lavish, deeply set pool of water steaming in the middle of a small, tiled room.

"Thank you."

She nodded, and turned to leave him alone. He blinked, then shrugged. He'd grown spoiled, catered to, unused to tending himself unless it was on a field of conflict. But he owed her, not the other way around, and that demanded a certain level of respect from him. He slid into the water, happy to scrub the stench of death from his body. His hair was a bigger mess, it took him more than an hour to oil it and finally comb it through. Damn you, Kargath. He should have been laid out with all due honors, not bundled in a pair of draenei caster's pants...where those had come from, he had no clue...and stripped of everything he'd owned. His hair was bare of the gold and jeweled ornaments that had bound it since the moment he'd been accepted as a true member of the Clans. His forearms, naked. His fingers. His ears. He'd been robbed blind. He couldn't look less like what he was if he tried.

Heads will roll. And their undead hands will pick them up and put them back on their shoulders, before they turn to me and call me master...

A pleasant, if empty, thought. Too much time had passed for him to exact that sort of revenge, he sensed only dry death when he thought of Kargath. And, bluntly, he'd been willing to risk his life to get away from Kargath, even if the man was still alive, a few baubles were not worth confronting him over. What was done was done. He could always get more.

He sighed, convinced he was as clean as he was going to get from one bath, and leveraged himself out of the water. He was hungry, thirsty, and yes, tired again. The only bright spot was that there was no one here that seemed likely to hold that weakness against him.

There was a pile of clean towels prominently displayed, and he dried off, wrapping one around his hips as he dried his hair and tightly braided it into submission. There was a mirror, and he steeled his nerves before he stared into it.

His own level brown eyes stared back at him, unchanged. The newest scar had paled a long time ago, he had to squint to find it, even though it seemed as if he'd been struck just days ago. "Grrrh." He breathed. His beard was, as usual, a complete loss and a total disaster. He'd tried to grow one on so many occasions, and each was a failure. Too curly. Too red. Too wrong. While he easily managed a head turning, glorious mass of dawn bright hair on his head, what grew on his face was a perpetual joke. But a straight razor had been provided so that he could take care of that problem. He shaved it completely away, studying himself in the mirror afterwards...

"Admiring yourself?"

"Making certain I didn't miss any." He sighed, turning to the speaker. It was the other blonde, the one who had never bothered to give him a name. The one that breathed threat and raised caution. She raised a brow when she caught a good glimpse of what he looked like now, cleaned up, and somehow, even that look was a threat. He stood his ground as she approached, even when she stepped right up to him. She was close to his height, so he couldn't even loom over her...

She placed her hand on his belly, way too low for his comfort, under his navel, stroking the fine line of dark blond hairs that traced the way lower with her thumb.

No. He locked eyes with her, stirring up his misgivings and staring unblinkingly into his own darkness. He could use it as a tool, a reminder, a memory of scenes he didn't want to repeat. He could control himself, the frenzy that he had given himself up to faded more and more every day that Mannoroth was gone. This one could not use it against him...he refused to let her.

"No, eh?" She murmured as if he had spoken it aloud. "Good." She nodded as if he'd passed a test, pulling her hand back and stepping away from him. "Oh, and you look much better without the beard, but you already knew that."

"I did." He granted slowly. Shaving displayed his weak jawline, but that childish feature was slightly better than the alternative. Gul'dan had laughingly noted that it looked entirely too much like he had a full growth of pubic hair clinging to his face.

"Dinner will be served in a few minutes. I have clothing that will come closer to fitting you, until we can get you some of your own. I'll be back to get you in just a bit...give you some time to get dressed."

There were indeed clothes, and they came damned close to fitting him. They weren't the dark, shadowed, hooded robes that he preferred, in fact they came close to the everyday clothes he had often worn when he had infilitrated human settlements ahead of the Clan's push... a billowy ivory linen shirt and tan breeches. Varik wasn't certain who actually owned them, he sensed no men close by. While he could sense that other men had been close by, that thread was weak and fleeting. They came, but they didn't stay.

"Ah, you're ready, good. This way, Jaina is waiting."


	12. Chapter 12

Aegwynn wore an odd expression when she strode into the dining room, and Jaina regarded her curiously. She had something up her sleeve, no doubt...

The man on her heels became visible, and Jaina's heart stuttered in response. It cannot be.

Even as the thought formed, it was dismissed. Yes. That was most certainly Varik, and to say he cleaned up nicely was a grave understatement. He was tall and broadly built, she'd known that already. But the bushy, scrubby beard that had covered the majority of his face was gone, he was shaved smooth. He had a broad jaw, a heavily cleft chin, strong lips, high cheekbones, and those level brown eyes under thick brows. He still managed to look the part of a soldier, a warrior, not a spellcaster.

"Varik." She greeted.

"Jaina." He replied, sitting when she pointed to the chair across from her. He sat in silence for a long moment, studying the silverware while Aegwynn took her seat next to him. "I wanted to thank you..." Yes, he offered thanks, but there was a wary distance in his gaze when he lifted his eyes from the fork. "What can I do for you?"

Oh, and the answer to that was nothing she was willing to say. She could sense Aegwynn's rising amusement, and if it wouldn't have given it away to him, she would have glared daggers at her own chamberlain. "You owe me nothing." She stated, ignoring the sudden rebellion crossing his features. So there was something under that implacable calm he'd been giving her after all. "But. You have nowhere to go." She'd be twice damned before she'd send this to Garrosh...

His lips tightened, and he picked up the fork, turning it over in his hands. Like the rest of him, they proclaimed that the man who possessed them was a fighter, no fine, long fingers. In fact, he was missing his right pinkie finger completely, and the nine digits that remained were heavily knuckled, scarred and callused. "Ner'zhul is gone." He muttered, casting his gaze downwards. "Gul'dan. I have no clan."

"You are a warlock." An ugly idea. That practice was technically illegal within the borders of the Alliance. And Theramore loosely fell into that jurisdiction... she tended to ignore the cabal of warlocks who called her city home. Denying that art only drove it underground, where it flourished in dark and hidden corners. They proved useful on occasion, but again, they fell firmly under the twice damned if she was going to send them this prize heading. Also, it was one thing to overlook them, another to have one here, within her tower, so close by. Once the rumors started, and they would, it would be a bad position to find herself in.

"No." He grimaced, trying to become smaller in his chair. He felt embarrassed, and more than a little uncomfortable. "I am...not, Jaina."

Aegwynn leaned back in her chair, raising a brow. "Not?" She echoed, which was good, because Jaina was speechless. Not an orc? Not a warlock? It was all so clear, he'd been practicing pure magery amongst the orcs because he was not an orc, and not a warlock...

"You're a mage." She didn't mean for her words to fall as a condemnation, but that's exactly how they sounded.

"I cannot say that. I can say I am not a warlock, for demons will not come to me. I can say that I am a necromancer, for the dead will come to me."

"Mage." Aegwynn chuckled, and he stared at her with thinly veiled betrayal. "Oh, hush with that look. Mage makes this all so much easier, Varik."

"It does?"

"It does." Jaina agreed, pulling the bell cord next to her. Not an orc meant that she could keep him here with only the usual amount of fuss that would come from Jaina Proudmoore having a man living in her home. Not a warlock meant that he would never be called on to answer to their authorities. She understood the inner workings of the Kirin Tor, and could play her contacts within that, but warlocks...no. "It's illegal to be a warlock in the Alliance."

"I'm guessing it's illegal to be a necromancer as well." He silenced suddenly, when dinner arrived in the hands of the kitchen staff.

"That is so." Aegwynn said, after the staff was gone. "But it's not illegal to be a mage. So the brightest thing for you is to neglect to mention that part of it, and stick with mage if it's asked, and it will be asked."

"So... you intend to keep me?" He leaned back, frowning. "I...why?"

Why, indeed? Other than the fact that he was gorgeous, of course. "I mean to be quite honest with you, Varik." She stated, piling her plate with food, lamb chops tonight, and sending the platter around. He looked less than impressed with the statement, and at the edge of that, she sensed concern. Good. She could deal with concern, bargain with it, convince it. "There are people out there that I don't want to have you."

"Who?"

"The Horde, firstly."

She expected some complaint, anger, the beginning of demands to be sent to them, but his frown only deepened, and he nodded slowly. "I killed myself to get away from orcs, so I will give you that as a valid point at this time. They are here, on Azeroth, now?"

"Not all of them made the retreat that you must have. Many were captured."

"Defending the Portal, yes. I was aware of their sacrifice." There was sadness, but also a steely disregard in his voice, and his slight hand motion was dismissive at its finest. She stared at him until he shrugged. "By then it was too late. Too many mistakes had already been made. But they are alive and free here, now?"

"Yeeessss."

"I am in no hurry to return to that." It was a vastly guarded reply from him, and she glanced at Aegwynn. There was little help from that quarter, the woman was simply staring at him, nearly expressionless. "You have an offer?"

Yes, yes, yes, I do!

"I am fascinated by your gifts, from what I saw in your spellbooks, you are a talented mage. You have a background that could be very useful to me on so many levels. Stay here, far from the orcs, and far from the Eastern Kingdoms, at least until you have a better idea of your options."

"I accept your offer." He said, then flicked a glance around. "This is your household?"

"Yes, why?"

"I sense no men. Is there another here? One good enough that I don't feel him, smell him? One I should be introducing myself to?"

Again, Jaina refused to meet Aegwynn's amused stare. "No." She managed to make it sound almost level and calm. "No one else." Ah, to hell with it. He'd hear the whole sordid story soon enough. "The man I was supposed to be with, he is what you refered to as the 'warchief's other half' when I first spoke to you."

"The soul locked with Ner'zhul." He pondered his plate, his table manners were not flawless, but he had been managing to make inroads into the meal with a minimum of mistakes. It was pretty obvious that he would prefer to just pick things up, but that he had been quashing that urge. He lifted his eyes, staring into Jaina's. "So we have both lost our most loved one to that abomination. I see, I understand."

She felt chilled. He had torn to the very center of the problem in a split second, grasped it, and digested it. She really needed to alter her perceptions, and quickly, before he started to use them against her. He might look like a farm boy turned line soldier, but she'd be the fool if she judged him by his external looks. It was the best camouflage she'd ever seen to hide his inborn power, planted in the skin of a man who should be swinging a weapon.

"What happened to your finger?" It was a stupid question, one she would take back in an instant, but it served its purpose to break the sudden rise of tension in the air. He grimaced, lifting his hand and flexing it as though it still pained him.

"Crushed during the sacking of Shattrath. By that point, we were lacking healers, so there was no saving it. Most of the shaman we had were shifting over to becoming warlocks, and those don't heal. I was lucky to keep the hand, Gul'dan did the amputation... thought I was going to lose the ring finger as well, but I didn't. Best I could ask for, and it is a good war wound. Made me less pretty, without truly affecting my performance."

"Pretty?" Jaina echoed dubiously. This considered himself pretty? Compared to orcs, maybe, but this was one of the least pretty men she'd ever clapped eyes on in her life. But that was the issue, he was comparing himself to just that...orc males. He would have always been smaller, lighter, weaker. It was just how it was. "You're not an orc. Measuring yourself against them is a false way to see yourself, Varik." You'll never measure up physically to one. But you've been trying, and failing, for years... So sad, but it had produced this. "We'll get a priest to look at that soon." The lost digit was just that, lost, but if there was an underlying injury to the rest of his hand, it needed to be seen to. It was damned hard to cast without a dominant hand in good working order, and now it was obvious he favored it slightly. "Get some sleep, Varik." She said, when he was done demolishing dinner and hiding yawns behind his locked jaw.

He nodded, stood, gave a half bow to both her and Aegwynn, before striding out. Jaina waited for him to be well gone before sighing, and gathering her silverware on her plate. "I have a beautiful example of human mage who thinks he's a failure at being an orc warlock." She murmured, and Aegwynn nodded in slow agreement.

"In a nutshell. He's lived his life being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's a wonder he survived it. They must have deemed him useful in spite of it all. He drops names like they're kernels of wheat falling out of chaff... Ner'zhul. Gul'dan. Just matter of factly."

"He's beautiful."

Aegwynn grinned at the simple statement. "Yes, yes he is. It doesn't get much better than that, Jaina." Jaina let the doubt and question she felt rise to her expression, Aegwynn was one of the few she trusted to be truthful. "Why? He's physically beautiful, big enough to be intimidating. He's truly gifted. And right now, he has utterly no political ties. Nothing that would affect, sway, or undermine Theramore's neutrality. He could be your mysterious lover, if that's how you wanted to go with this. Knowing, of course, that he has a very dark past."

"The sacking of Shattrath." The draenei didn't talk much about that, but their reports to the archives at Dalaran regarding that spoke volumes. And Jaina was all too well versed in what the Horde had done to Dalaran, and Stormwind. Those atrocities were not obscured by distance as Shattrath's fall was, she'd been around for those two. "Stormwind."

"Yes. There's no denying that he entered into the Blood Pact. Mannoroth's blood flows through his. In fact..." Aegwynn wrinkled her nose, "It is not as faded in him as far as it has faded in the orcs. He is something to watch with caution, but damn...girl..."

"There is an appeal in a man that can take care of himself." Less of a risk there. She needed someone strong, willing to throw down in a fight. If he'd been willing and able to survive the First and Second wars, that was a good sign. But was she lonely enough to go this route? For every point in his favor, he had one against him. He'd been a part of a force that had done terrible, terrible things. He had indulged in a mindless frenzy of brutality fueled by demonic corruption. If he had come out the other side, then he must have embraced it, ridden it to its fullest. It was the only way he could have survived it, especially if he was correct in his name dropping.

"I'm sure he can. Whether or not you want him to. Are you willing to have a man that will do what he's willing to do? And more importantly, are you willing to let him live down what he's already done?"

That was the question, and Jaina had no answer for it. Nor was she going to have an answer that night, no matter what. "Good night, Aegwynn." She muttered, knowing that was answer enough. It was not a question she was going to have the answer to immediately, and Aegwynn wouldn't expect her to.


	13. Chapter 13

Jaina was dreaming. She knew she was, but couldn't manage to pull herself out of it. She didn't want to be here, again. She'd learned her lesson, back when this was real, and he was still there. But she was still walking down the halls of Icecrown Citadel, headed firmly to the mockery of Lordaeron City's throne room. He'd be there, even though he was now well and truly gone. She'd had this dream dozens of times, and it never ended well.

He was indeed there, motionless on his Throne, the tableau almost the same as it always was. Except, this time, he had a form on its knees before him, a broadly shouldered man with bowed head. Varik. He had Varik, here. Varik, garbed in the full regalia of an orcish warlock, dark gray robes edged in blood red, embossed with skulls, his eyes flaming with simmering rage when he stared over his shoulder at her. He reeked of malevolence, darkness, corruption, a vast change from the man she'd just had dinner with...

"I have you both back, now." The Lich King breathed coldly, "Both of my mages, returned to me."

No. She needed to wake up now.

And she did, her heart pounding, but still safely within her bed at Theramore. No Arthas. No Icecrown. No throne. Just a comforting silence.

She sighed, sitting up. No, she would not get back to sleep anytime soon. She needed something to drink, some fresh air, some time watching the serenity of Theramore from her favorite balcony. Which just happened to be the one that opened off of the room that Varik was using... Foolish, she'd just end up waking him up, but some perverse part of her wanted to do just that. He was quite distracting...

And quite asleep. She didn't feel nearly as bad about walking in, since he'd been happy to leave the door hanging wide open into the hallway. It was a warm night, that allowed the breeze from the ocean to flow through his room, back into her apartments. It was a warm night, and the bright moonlight made it obvious that he was sprawled on the bed, naked as the day he'd been born. The only hint to modesty wasn't even from him, it was from an inopportune shadow formed by the depth of his thighs. Any doubt that she wanted this was gone in that instant.

Wake up, you fool!

It was as if he heard her thoughts, his eyes snapped open, and he inclined his head to stare at her. "Jaina?" He quiered softly, except that she had no words for him. He sat up, that shadow still doing its damnedest to cover him, even though it was as if he gave no thought whatsoever to his lack of clothing. Of course not, orcs were not known for their modesty... "I..." And still nothing.

He stood up, moving up to her. And Jaina had no idea of just where she was supposed to look.. if she cast down her eyes, she'd be staring right at his crotch. If she stared ahead, his jawline and those lips. She chose to look up instead, into his gaze. "I had a nightmare." Finally! Words! "I normally go onto the balcony..."

He rested his hand on her shoulder, cupped up against the nape of her neck. "I see."

Do something. Don't make me ask, please. I can't...

He leaned forward, slowly to give her a chance to step back away from him, before he kissed her. It should have felt like a mistake, but it had been too damned long. When she didn't flee, his grip became stronger, his kiss deeper, and any thought of retreat was gone.

She could feel him hardening against her belly, hot and insistent, wrapped in the soft silk of her nightgown. Her breasts were flattened against him, one of his hands caught in her hair, the other dropping down to grasp her buttocks, pulling her firmly up against him. His kisses were voracious, teeth, lips and tongue, before he dropped his face into the neckline of her nightgown. She could feel him drawing in her scent, in his nose, on his tongue, puncutating his path lower with an occasional nip of teeth. He used those same teeth to pull the drawstring loose from its tie, and before Jaina fully grasped what had happened, the gown was in a pool on the floor. He cupped her breasts in his large hands, stroking and tweaking, and her legs turned to liquid. "I can't stand up." She managed, and he responded by easily sweeping her up to deposit her on the bed. He was big...everywhere, and quite proud to let her see it all. He stilled when she reached out for him, shuddering when she wrapped her fingers around his cock. So thick. So hard. She could feel his heartbeat throbbing under her fingertips, yet the skin was so warm and velveted soft over his hardness. She stroked downwards, victorious when he caught his breath and laid down beside her, unable to stand anymore himself.

She kept hold on him with one hand, touching herself with the other while he stared, transfixed. He was real. He was there, under her fingers, erect and throbbing. No more half assed orgasms, she would be riding this tonight...

Yes, definitely. He slid out of her grasp, leveraged her knees open with his elbows, his tongue creating a damp trail from the valley between her breasts, down beyond her navel, his thumbs splitting her blonde lips. "Ah!" She gasped when he took a long, savoring taste, lingering on her clit. He chuckled malevolently when she bucked in shock, gushing wetness in response, and slid two large fingers within her to hold her down for more. He began to greedily suckle, edging her with teeth on every downpull, pushing with his fingers on every upthrust. The orgasm hit her so hard and fast that Jaina was stunned into complete compliance, the room spun around her and the world grayed at the edges. If that had been it, it would have been more than enough, but he had hardly gotten started.

He sucked his own fingers, the ones he'd had within her, and Jaina blushed. "Touch me again." He breathed in harsh orcish. "Put me inside of you..."

"Lay back." If that's how he wanted it, fine. He obliged, resting on his back, and she straddled his waist, rubbing her swollen, wet lips downwards until she rested on top of him, his head peeking out between her folds, his length curtained by her flesh. He was so hard, so big, that she wanted to savor the moment before she brought him inside. And it didn't hurt that he responded by stroking her breasts again, catching her hard nipples between his fingers, pulling gently. She began to rub against him, sliding along his length, wetting him completely before she came up high and suddenly reversed direction, bringing him into her.

He gasped, shuddered, his fingers fisting the sheets into wads under his grasp. She gasped, it had been so long, and he was a big man, still as death beneath her.

It was a moment before she could move, another before she worked out a rythym that suited her. The second she had that, he grasped her ass, splitting her cheeks to give him the deepest penetration possible. "I'm..." Coming again, although she would have done almost anything to avoid it. If all she did was sway in stunned ecstasy, what would that do for him? But she couldn't hold it off, collapsing on his chest. Thankfully, he was willing to take it from there, all by himself. He rolled her off of him, onto her back, and put her ankles up on his shoulders, splitting her again. He thrust deeply into her, all barely coiled strength and rippling muscles. Her breasts bobbed with every thrust, and he growled his pleasure above her while she cried in desperation. He gave three last huge thrusts before he was done, trembling as he filled her full of his seed. He collapsed next to her, gasping for breath and chuckling.

"What?" This had been a mistake. A big one. Now that her itch had been scratched and the lust was fading she could see that. She was left with the coldly dawning realization of just how foolish she had been.

"I don't think I'm quite up to that again, yet." He admitted with a cough. "But thank you anyways. If that's what kills me, I will die a happy man." She was expecting something more, something worse, but he seemed content to lie next to her in silence. After a long moment of peaceful quiet, she realized he was calmly asleep again, his forehead resting against her shoulder.

"Ass." She muttered, but his calm was contagious and she slipped back into sleep next to him.


	14. Chapter 14

She woke to bright morning sunlight, and Aegwynn staring at her. Varik was still asleep, curled up next to her, his nudity obvious. Of course, hers was as well.

"Jaina." It was amazing how her name could hold so much benignly scandalized amusement. "So soon?"

"You hush." She rescued the sheet from the floor and wrapped herself up in it, ignoring Aegwynn's smirk as she did so. "What's on my schedule for today?"

"Delegates from your brother."

In other words, nothing she could get out of seeing. She grimaced, well, at least they wouldn't be able to tempt her with ideas of handsome Kul'tirasian nobles just dying to marry the Lord Admiral's sister... she was all out of temptation this morning. That itch had been well and truly scratched...for the time being. She glanced down at Varik, shook her head and motioned to Aegwynn to follow her to her own chambers and her own clothes press. It was probably good, she needed time to figure out what she was doing, and how in the hell she was going to handle this. "Do me a favor and take care of Varik for me today? There are a couple of things he needs done..."

"Clothes and priest."

"Clothes and priest." Jaina agreed, stepping into her own clothes. The latter was something she should have insisted on before she'd bedded him, but that was her doing, not his.

Varik woke, alone, feeling both wonderful, and much the worse for wear. It had been too damned soon for that, but he'd never been one to turn down a willing woman. But he was paying for it dearly. He just had to keep breathing...

"You look like hell." Aegwynn noted calmly from the doorway.

So many insults... Varik simply glared at her in response. If he could catch his breath, stand up straight, he could give it right back at her. But it was going to have to wait.

"Come on. Jaina wants you seen by a priest."

"No need of that, I'm clean." At least he hoped he was. Maybe it was prudent that he get that checked, especially since he was bedding his own host.

"More concerned about other things. You have been dead for years, after all. And she wants you to see the tailor as well, but seeing you this morning makes me think the priest is more important."

That was sound logic, much as he'd like to disagree.

They started off the morning at Theramore's small church, manned by an older priest who had the air of having seen it all, already. Self inflicted ritualistic death wound barely caused the man to blink twice. He merely sighed in indulgent exasperation, healing it easily enough, leaving only a small, dark, circular scar behind. "Mages." He groused under his breath, more than loudly enough for Varik to overhear him. He was remarkably easy to understand, although he certainly spoke common.

He said nothing when he rested his fingertips on the clan scar that covered Varik's heart, murmuring a nearly silent prayer. "So much pain." He breathed, and Varik shifted uncomfortably under his focus. "Was the payment enough?"

"It was." No matter what, Varik believed that. The carnage afterwards, probably not, he'd been deeply in a glut of rage and violence. But at its core, the Blood Pact had gifted him as much as it had cursed him, especially now that Mannoroth was no more.

"Your very nature combats the corruption. You only buckled, but never broke. Good, good. Let me see the hand."

Varik did, and the priest pulled a stool over, spending much more time scrutinizing that old wound than he had Varik's soul, or nearly fatal wound, bending fingers back until Varik hissed in pain. "Crushing blow?"

A draenei paladin, filled with determination, hefting a warhammer in defense of Shattrath... "Yes. The finger died a couple of days later." And that had been that. Varik had been in a welter of terror, his hand swelling red, black and blue, without that hand, what was he? Gul'dan had done everything possible, draining off the blood to bring down the swelling, packing it with poultices, splinting it tightly, dosing Varik with a variety of drugs and wines, and when all else had failed, he had been the one to do the amputation.

"A decent job. I cannot do much for that, now." He pushed the stool backwards from the bed he'd placed Varik on, his gaze falling on the silent Aegwynn. "He's healthy, chamberlaine, as healthy as he's ever going to be. Lady Proudmoore can rest assured that her...guest... is just fine."

"Perry..."

"Theramore is a small place, and its only real entertainment is following Lady Proudmoore's exploits. Hiding this isn't going to work, but you know that already."

"I do." Aegwynn agreed, "But convincing Jaina that the best way to handle this is to make it nothing, by openingly claiming him as her lover and daring anyone to make something of it...will probably be a challenge."

The priest chuckled, "Well, I will not start the rumor. Nor will I feed it when it starts. It was an honor to meet you, Varik."

And that was that, Varik was released to follow Aegwynn back onto the sun drenched streets of Theramore with a clean bill of health. "Tailor."

"Fantastic." He sighed, well aware that he was not going to get what he wanted. "So we're going with mage?"

"Independent mage, no ties to the Kirin Tor...yet. We'll leave the details up to the observer's imagination. But you are correct, no warlock robes for you today. Or necromancer robes. Or whatever you're used to."

Of course not. He'd be dressed like some dandy human fool. He growled, a completely orcish sentiment, but she only shook her head in answer. He contented himself by stalking on her heels, but she seemed less than impressed, pausing in front of a small store front deep on the swamp side of Theramore. "Best arcane tailor in Theramore...only arcane tailor in Theramore."

He snorted, stepping over the threshold, into the darkened and cool room beyond. A grumpy looking gnome fixed him with a stare, her eyes going to Aegwynn standing in his shadow. "Chamberlaine?"

"Varik here needs clothes. Billed to the Citadel, he's joining my staff."


	15. Chapter 15

Varik felt almost human again, healed and healthy, done with fittings and measurements, and loosed upon Jaina's general library. Books. Books. Books. Unfortunately, the vast majority of them were in a language or languages that he didn't happen to read, and he was lowered to looking at pictures and diagrams...just like a child. It took almost an hour to find a volume he could actually read amongst the large number of books she had here, a book of orcish sagas. He'd heard most of them before, from storytellers in the field, but even that fact was comforting to him. He felt more than a little adrift, uprooted again. Lost... even if the hospitality here was beyond superb. Perhaps he could grow used to here. He wasn't as young as he used to be, his usefulness on a field of battle was waning... if he could even find a field of battle he was willing to commit to anymore. What had been a joy, a glut of ecstasy, a mad rush, seemed empty and wrong. He'd done terrible things, and now he was left to face them. He'd never do it again, not unless he or his were directly threatened. He'd never take what wasn't his to have, again. He'd never unleash his gifts unless he felt righteous indignation in his own soul. No more insane rulers using him.

"There you are." Jaina stepped into the library, tilting her head. "Found the library. Why am I not surprised?" She laughed oddly, taking a seat across from him. He stared at her over the edge of the book he was reading, letting her find her own words. It was usually the best way to go when he didn't quite grasp things. "I wanted to talk to you about last night."

He ran it through again in his mind, still fairly certain that he had done nothing wrong. He'd given her plenty of opportunities to leave, she'd come to his bed. He was certain he had pleased her to the best of his abilities. "I was completely out of line, Varik. My behavior was terrible."

"You're apologizing for bedding me?" She had to be joking...right? She hadn't struck him as insane, so it had to be humor... he just didn't quite get it. He had shied away from her so called servant, whose attempt at seduction had been a thinly veiled test with no real desire behind it, but Jaina's hadn't been. She had simply wanted him to bed her, and he had been more than happy to oblige. He didn't see a problem there. "Well, hell." He sputtered when she blushed, "I hope you have plenty of opportunities to apologize for your continuing terrible behavior in the future, because I'd love to do that again."

Her blinks were damned near audible, her mouth hanging half open in shock. That obviously wasn't the reaction she was expecting, but Varik had no idea what would have been the 'right' answer to that horrible apology. "Uh...ah...right." She blushed, biting her lower lip. "I have some questions, if you feel up to them."

He grimaced, marking his place on his book and placing it carefully down. Of course she did. He was surprised they had waited this long. She reamined silent as he stood to stare out of the balcony doors, pondering Theramore beneath him. "Go ahead."

"You're human, obviously."

"Mostly." He granted slowly. "I was before I drank from the Chaos Well. Now..."

"Which means you were in Draenor before we sent in the Expedition to close down the Dark Portal. How?"

"Do you believe that the Dark Portal occurred without some test runs done beforehand?"

"Nooooo..." She paused, "A work on that scale, probably not. You're saying that there were other portals opened to Draenor before it?"

"I am. And those that were unlucky enough to be on the other side of one of these were taken as spoils of war by the orcs, a taste of things to come."

He could feel the weight of her eyes, feel her mind working on his words. "We've found no hint of captives on Draenor, and the draenei make no mention of them other than the Expedition to close the Portal. But Draenor is still large, even after its shattering...could there be more like you? Survivors?"

"No." He was certain of that. "There are no survivors, Jaina. The draenei will not bring it up because they understand that."

"Kill them. Prove, once and for all, that you belong with us. Destroy this last link with your past, blot it away. They are small, weak, pathetic. They are only worthy to give you power. Take it from them! Renounce what you once were! Be what you are fated to be! Killllll them!"

"I killed them, Jaina. They are all gone." Their lives had been his payment, his crucible, and the fuel that had burned away so much of what he had once been. "It's how I proved that I was loyal to the Horde." They were dead anyway. I just helped the process along. Quickly. No, he would not make any excuses. He'd done what he had done. The brave had died on that day, and the coward had lived...which was pretty much the story of his life. And yes, he still lived. The weight of it all hit him, and he leaned against the doorway.

He sensed her approach, smelled her scent closing behind him. She rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "What would have happened to them if you hadn't?" She finally asked, and he craned his chin to look down at her. Her expression was still, steady, a deliberate lack of recrimination in it, and he raised a brow at her. "My chamberlaine asked me if I was willing to let you live down what you've done. So I ask, what would have happened to them if you hadn't killed them? Would they have lived?"

"No." That was the one thing he was certain of. They had been lost the moment they'd taken through the Portal, enslaved and broken afterwards. Death had probably been a release for them.

"Are you willing to live down what you've done?"

Interesting question, unfortunately it was one he didn't have an answer for, yet. It had been so long since he'd been able to talk to himself, alone, that he barely knew himself anymore. "I don't know." He finally admitted when it became obvious that she wasn't going to let it go without an answer. "I have to look at it now, without the rage. And that will take time."

"I think that's the best answer I could have asked for." She granted, stepping away from him and picking up the book he was reading. "I'd forgotten I had this." She chuckled. "Odd choice, I would have thought that you would already know these."

"I do, but every taleteller's version is different. It comforts like home. And..." He spread his hands in defeat, "It is the only one there that I can read. I don't read common, I never have."

"Have to work on that." She sat down across from where he had been lounging, plucking at the violet fabric covering her knee. "I'm glad you were...fine... with last night. You have no idea who I am, do you?"

Oh, now, that was a baited question, and he snorted. "You are Jaina Proudmoore, one of the Kul'tirasian Proudmoores, my guess would be Daelin's daughter. An archmage of the Kirin Tor, the group that held Dalaran. My intelligence may be old, but it was good. I helped strategize against your nation's navies." He stared blankly ahead, "But by then it was already too late. I'd lost." Too many truly asinine decisions had been made by that point, things he had tried to override, only to be overridden himself. The orcs hadn't been in it for a long term occupation, his advice and pleas for a slowing of their advice had either been ignored or had earned him derision for his caution.

"That is passed." She pointed out, "But yes, I am Daelin Proudmoore's daughter..."

"And you're important." He knew that was coming, he sensed the power wafting off of her, and he had felt the reactions of those in Theramore to her name. "How impressed do you want me to be?" He cracked his knuckles loudly, "So impressed that I call you lady? Stare at you with awe?" He spun on her, stalking towards her, and she stood warily. "So impressed that I would never consider doing this?"

She was startled, her eyes widening, when he reached out to grasp her shoulders. He pulled her up to him, claiming her lips under his own before burying his face deeply into the cleft of her breasts. "No." She murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "That is how impressed that I feared you would be when you found out."

He laughed, the sound muffled from her flesh. "No, Jaina." He sighed, releasing his hold on her and half turning away. "If you're that impressive, then you just might be good enough for me."

"You're a bastard, you know that?" She joked, and he nodded, giving her a half bow.

"You didn't go to Draenor looking for a nice man, Jaina." No, she'd gone after what those spellbooks of his loudly claimed him to be, and he'd be damned if he played at being anything other than what he was. He was getting too damned old for that. He'd become an orc in almost every way, because he had been playing at being something else than what he actually was, but he couldn't do it again.

"No, you're right, I didn't. So, did you want to learn to read common?"

Pride told him to say no, but the temptation of too many books held away from him was too much to turn away from. "Yes." He admitted, sitting next to her.


	16. Chapter 16

He was so damned smart, if he was telling the truth that he had never known how to read common. Teaching him the alphabet was simply like she was reminding him of a task he'd simply grown rusty with, his recall was spot on perfect, his intuitive leaps dead on. She was free to admire him when he bent over the pages of a child's book that her father had gifted her with, sounding out words with an increasing ease and speed. And that seemed to be triggering a faster, more expansive recall of his innate ability to speak common. His accent was fading, the words flowed.

"It's growing late, Varik." She hated to break his reverie, but she had meetings first thing in the morning. She recognized his very need to grasp this, to master it, but it would have to wait until tomorrow evening. "I need to get some sleep." And she'd prefer to do that with his company, but she had no idea how to ask him...without stirring the pot again. She just wanted someone in bed with her, asleep next to her. A living soul to reach over and touch in the middle of the night, someone to chase away the emptiness. "Ah, will you come with me?" There. It was out. Done. Said.

"Certainly." Not a blink. Not a bobble. He just accepted the request, putting the books down and standing. "It has gotten late." He chuckled, "Sorry, I tend to get wrapped up in things."

Of course he did. He was a mage, arcanely gifted. That almost always came with a quicksilver mind and an obsession with learning.

He followed her into her room, nodding when she waved at the bed. He stripped without a word, turning his back on her as he sat on the opposite side of her bed. She grimaced, she'd always loved backs, and he had a stellar example of one... broad, heavily muscled, traced with the occasional scar. And he had the high, tight ass that so often went with that build... it was almost enough to make her change her mind about just wanting sleep. No, she was exhausted, and she'd also like to know if he could just sleep while keeping his hands to himself. "You always sleep in the nude?" Not that he had any nightclothes... she could have kicked herself for the comment, but he only gave her a wickedly crooked grin in answer.

"Yes, Jaina...I do."

And yes, he was perfectly capable of just sleeping next to her, keeping his hands to himself. He proved it by falling asleep well before she did, his breathing deep and easy, lulling her into a rare, carefree slumber.

And she woke again to Aegwynn staring down at her. "Don't say it." She groaned, turning over to bury her face in that perfect place in his back, between his shoulderblades, wrapping an arm over his narrow waist. He smelled wonderful, and she could just stay like this forever...well, for at least an hour. His response was to wrap his arms over hers, blatantly ignoring Aegwynn lurking behind him.

"So." He mumbled sleepily, finally flipping over to face both Jaina and Aegwynn. "I'm not staying here, locked up like a bird. What am I supposed to say when I go out there?"

Jaina sighed, of course he wasn't going to stay put. He was recovering fast, he had a vibrant mind and a coiled body. He'd want to see things, get into things, discover things. And the moment Theramore got a good look at this, the rumors would start flying, but this time, they'd be true. It was best just to face them, head on. "If the question is what are you...then you are a mage, a human mage, and only a mage." That, she had to insist on. "If the question is what are you to me, then tell them the truth. They won't believe you, at first."

"I understand." He stood up, still ignoring Aegwynn, and the chamberlaine's bluntly appreciative stare. "I'm going to go take a look around. I promise to not kill anybody unless they try to kill me first." Jaina sighed, feeling the wave of Aegwynn's utter amusement as she watched him get dressed.

"Varik. Here..." She opened a chest on the table and handed him a small bag. "Get some books to work with, you're going to be done with my childhood primer by tonight."

He squeezed the bag, listening to the clink with a tilted head, before giving her a wide smile and striding off. She watched him go, trying not to fixate on the sway of the tail of his braid, which ended at just the right spot...

"I expected more of a fuss." Aegwynn admitted slowly. "You to put up more of a fight."

"Why are you so determined to see this happen? I mean, he's gorgeous, and yes, I admit, I've been lonely, but..."

"I can't be here with you forever, Jaina. Very soon, I will be called away, and the last thing I want to do is leave you alone. You need someone, and I'm hoping it's him. Every man before him was so caught by the idea of wooing the Great Jaina Proudmoore, but that one..."

"...Told me if I was that great, then I might be good enough for him."

Honest respect dawned in Aegwynn's eyes, and she erupted into boisterous laughter. "So how is he...I mean...?"

It was Jaina's turn to erupt into the same laughter, shaking her head. "More than adequate to the task." She admitted, feeling herself flush at the idea. "It wasn't all about him. And he's smart. Frighteningly so."

"You wouldn't respect a man who wasn't."

True enough.


	17. Chapter 17

It was beyond odd to walk the streets of a human city, alone, without an ulterior motive. Gul'dan had been quick to seize on the realization that Varik had made a perfect spy, easy to send in in advance to get information on defenses and targets. He had spent much of the early days of the war doing just that, first eyes on the prize, and then deeply involved in the plans to take it. Back when things had still made sense, before they'd started heaping mistake upon mistake. He was vindicated, but it was an empty thought. He'd been right all along, and it still had made no difference.

Try as he might, he couldn't completely ignore that part of him that was trained to see Theramore as a target. It wouldn't be easy to take, he'd have to grant it that. Even if he ignored the charged pluck of magic in the air, the place was a respectable fortress. And if he didn't ignore it, it warned of a much larger fight than met the eye. Home of an archmage, and he was beginning to grasp that she wasn't just any archmage.

You can pick them.

He shook his head at the idea. No, they could pick him. He attracted trouble like rotting apples brought wasps. He wasn't even supposed to have been anywhere near the village that day...

Enough. He realized he had his hands clenched, his jaw locked, and he forced himself to relax. Over and done. Today was a good day, and he'd enjoy it while he had it.

Books. Jaina had sent him down here for books so that she could continue to teach him. He nodded sharply, moving along. And food. He'd like breakfast. Now that he had a purpose, he glanced around. Yup, that would be the inn. Seen one, seen them all. He checked the bag that Jaina had given him...if that wasn't enough coin to buy both a decent breakfast and a set of elementary level books, the world had gravely changed.

He climbed the wide steps, moving within the serene inn. He felt completely out of place, aware that every pair of eyes in the place was locked on him. A small inn, in a small town, and he didn't have the sailor look.

"What can I get for you?"

"How much is breakfast?" The words came easier, they sorted themselves out in his mind and on his tongue without much of a pause. The young woman who had approached him considered him silently for a long moment, before she shrugged. He had to deliberately yank his gaze up to her face, she had a divinely gifted pair of breasts, and obviously the will to show them off.

"Good breakfast, a silver. Enough to get you by 'til lunch...twenty copper."

"I'll have the good breakfast." It had been a long time since he could have managed on what he understood she was offering him for cheap. While he had never gotten as large as the male orcs he had been trying desperately to prove himself to, he was easily equal in size or larger than the majority of the men he'd seen here. And he'd grown accustomed to feeding his appetites; food, drink, tomes, and women...

Ah, but that last one could really upset his apple cart here. Somehow, Jaina really didn't strike him as the share and share alike type, but she did strike him as nothing he wanted as an enemy. She already knew too much, add jilted lover to that...no.

"Thank you." He muttered, when the barmaid placed a cup in front of him. He smelled coffee.

"Let me guess, tough guy. You take it black?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I do not. Cream and honey." He gave her a sideways grin, in spite of his better judgement. "I like the sweeter things in life, and I'm big enough to admit it."

"So you are." She chuckled, swishing away from him. He grimaced, rolling a good portion of his own cheek between his teeth, and biting down. No. No. Nope. Not going to happen. Otherwise, he was no better than the orcs, letting his baser nature run the show. That had lost them the war, and this would cost him dearly in the end. He was certain of that. All he had to do was make this a challenge instead of a self denial. That worked every time, he was so easily manipulated...by himself.

By the time the barmaid brought him breakfast, he had already talked himself out of doing anything stupid with her, so he merely smiled at her when she placed a platter of food in front of him, including the requested cream and honey. Good food, no...great food. Orcish cuisine left a lot to be desired, and as the war had gone on, the worse it had gotten. He could live on seared meat, and little else, if he had to, but it was never by choice. During the main Azerothian push, there had been plenty of delicacies for the taking, but not after the return to Draenor. A dark, driven time...

"You eat like a horse."

"No. My diet would kill a horse." He said around a mouthful, and Aegwynn shook her head, taking the seat across from him. Probably safer that way, she eclipsed the welcoming stares of the barmaid when she did so.

"You and I need to talk...away from Jaina." She glanced behind her, her gaze falling squarely on the barmaid, and she nodded. "Definitely."

"Is this the start to the 'Hurt Jaina by screwing around on her and I will kill you, boy!' speech?" He sighed, staring at his sadly empty platter. That had been almost as good as sex, and he more than enough coin for another... He stood up, holding up the platter... "I'll take another!"

"It'll cost ya another silver." The barmaid stated, her eyes widening.

"I know. But I still want it." He sat back down, staring at Aegwynn. "So, do I get it?"

She laughed, sadly. "Somewhat." She nodded, "Somewhat. I don't want to scare you, but I'm going to be as blunt as you seem to be... Hurt Jaina, and there will be a long list of very scary things fighting over who gets the chance to make you pay for it. Many of them can probably give you a run for your money."

Of course. Why would he even be surprised? He'd fallen straight into trouble, again, without even a chance to come up for air. "So I wait for her to grow bored with me."

The woman's answering smile was dark, and he regarded her cautiously. "Bored. She's only pined for the last man she was involved with for the last fifteen years."

"I'm patient." He grinned, and the look she sent him was dripping with false disgust. "Honestly, women grow bored with me very quickly. Once it ceases to be novel anymore, I'm sent on my way. I'm an oddity, and once the new wears off, it's over."

"You're an oddity for an orc. Jaina is no orc." She reached out and tapped him on the end of his nose, sharply. "You need to stop thinking that you're a terrible example of an orc, and grasp that you are a fine example of a man. I'm just asking you to be cautious with her. While not being..."

"Too overtly cautious with her."

He was certain he didn't like her gaze, it was as if it peeled back all of his layers and peeked inside of him. "She is right about you."

Varik wasn't certain if that was a compliment or an indictment, her delivery obscured it. "Oh?" He finally asked.

"You are very smart." Again, her fingertip on his nose. "If you had the information to back that up, you'd be a worthy challenge. Take my advice..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Varik Shadowmoon. Revert back to what they tried to train out of you. Think. Think. And then, rethink it all over again. You're not an orc. This..." She flicked her fingers, "Is not Draenor. Listen to that caution sewn up in your soul, in fact, listen to that soul and remember the rules have changed again."

"The rules always change." He said at his normal volume, as the barmaid returned with another platter. "That's the only thing that doesn't change."

"You know you'll have to choose."

He sighed, wishing he didn't understand exactly what that cryptic phrase meant. "I know."

"But not now. Learn what Jaina is willing to teach you. Find yourself again. This time you make the choice." She finally let his gaze go, staring down at his second breakfast of the day, and nodded. "Have a nice day, Varik."

"You too." He sighed, watching her go, then shrugged and began eating again. He took his time, polished off every last crumb, before he stood.

"My compliments to the cook." Ah, yes. This was Common, with words of more than just two syllables, coming to him with ease. He gave the barmaid two silver, and a tip, deliberately avoiding admiring her taut nipples as he did so. If every damn woman here wore clothes that thin, and gave him looks that inviting, this was going to be a true challenge...

Theramore was again bright and sunny, and he held up a hand to shade his eyes. A hood would be absolutely wonderful, but no. He was still dressed in the same linen shirt and tan breeches.

He was such a baby, the sun was hardly going to kill him. Wearing the same clothes for three straight days, hardly going to kill him. That draenei across the street, staring at him in transfixed disbelief...might just try.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath. Maybe it was just his imagination...no. He was never that lucky, and it just had to be a paladin. Of course. A male paladin, a big male paladin, wielding a warhammer. Varik had already experienced this, on more than one occasion...and in those, he'd had backup. Here, now, he had nothing.

"Deathcaller." The paladin breathed in shock, and Varik did his best to give him a blank, curious look in response. It failed miserably, one a draenei, especially a paladin, believed something, that was that. There would be no reasoning with it, and he was certain that Jaina would frown on the level of damage that a draenei paladin versus the Deathcaller would bring to Theramore's streets. The only polite thing to do would be to run And on a very full belly as well...

He switched directions suddenly, bolting away from the stunned draenei. Didn't see that one coming, did you, buddy? Of course not, why would the Deathcaller run? Thankfully, they didn't tend to be too terribly bright, and this one was no mage. Around the corner, down the alley and...

A woman stepped into the next street over, undoing the plain braid of reddish blonde hair that hung down her back. Her brown eyes were narrowed, cautious, and she scanned her surroundings as she bound up her hair in a passable knot. "Watch where you're going!" She hissed as a massive draenei paladin bowled into her, and he stopped, staring around. His eyes met her clear blue ones, confused. "Have you seen a man run by?"

She paused, wrapping a strand of her dark brown hair around her left index finger as she pondered the question. "Lots." She answered in a rough, plain accent that could have originated anywhere in the rural areas of the Eastern Kingdoms. "Folk are always in a hurry, they are."

"No, no, no. A particular man. Tall for a human. Long blond hair, in a braid. Heavily built, clean shaven."

"Can't say that I have."

He growled, nodded at her and gave her a terse "Thank you." under his breath as he moved away. She watched him go, then chuckled.

"That trick never gets old." She breathed. A draenei mage had a good chance of still picking the Deathcaller out of a crowd, even when the Deathcaller wasn't what he normally looked like, but it...

He had returned to the corner, staring at her. "Show me your hand."

Ah, shit, shit, shit. Although she knew it was going to be an epic failure, she held up her left hand, fingers spread.

"No. Your sword hand."

She cursed vividly in guttural Orcish, blinking past him on a path straight for the center of town. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully, the draenei had no jurisdiction here, no authority. But if she was going to be where she could be seen... time to go back. Her strides lengthened as she grew back up, a long cascade of blond hair flowing behind him as he ran straight for Jaina's tower.

There was nothing worse than getting hit by an outraged male draenei paladin. It had been years since it had happened last, and it was even harder to take than it had been the last time. Too old for this damned shit. He had been planted face first into the grass, his head still ringing when he surged back to his feet.

A ring of lambent power erupted around him, swirling and eddying in dark colors...blue, purple, garnet...swathed in black. "You just need to..." He ground through his teeth, holding his hand out towards the oncoming paladin.

"Varik, no!"

And no damned woman was going to stop him...unless of course, it happened to be Jaina Proudmoore. He felt the sudden, riveting shift of energy, he was trying to outcast an archmage, in the shadow of her own tower. "Both of you stop it! Now!" There had been a draenei there, but there suddenly wasn't anymore, and Varik growled in frustration. If he could just grasp the casting work, he could follow the damnable paladin and teach it how not to mess with its betters, tear its soul from its body and... "Varik!"

"He started it!"

Oh, and that was the best he could come up with?

"I know. I saw you coming, he hit you first, and in the back." She said it more than loudly enough to be overheard by the gathering crowd. "He's gone now."

"Because of you!" He be damned if he'd be mollycoddled like this, she had taken away his toy, his prize. "I could have..."

What? Killed the paladin in full view of Theramore? Yanked the soul from the body and proved his superiority the best way he knew how, by the ultimate exercise of control? Denying the paladin death and peace? He sighed, folding his arms over his chest and staring at her, the rage drifting away from him in visible wafts of bloody fog. "Fine." He sighed, "You're right." But that meant here was no longer a place for him, the draenei had gone, safe, hale, whole, and very much aware of what it had faced in Theramore.

"Come inside, Varik."

He nodded, more than happy to be away from the staring, prying eyes. Away from the whispers rising like early morning bird song on the breeze. He followed her into the cool dimness of the tower, headed straight for his sarcophagus, still resting on the floor of her main casting room.

"What are you doing?" She asked softly from the door, and he growled in answer.

"I had hoped that my things would be here." No luck of course. Nothing was hidden.

"All I found you with were the pants. Varik, you need to calm down, there's nothing there. Talk to me."

"About what?" He brushed past her, moving on into her office. At least his spellbooks were here. "I was recognized."

"I gather that."

"It won't take the draenei long to mount an offensive..." He'd be a prize beyond dreams, he'd known for ages that the draenei were after him. His best chance was to teleport back to Shadowmoon, lose them there...

"Varik."

"What?"

"Theramore is a sovereign nation, and I am its ruler. If the draenei want to mount an offensive against my home, it will start a war. They're in no position for that. So I have to ask you a question, quickly. Much too quickly, but I need to know now."

"What is that?" If she was willing to stand for him...

"Will you serve as my consort?"

"You are mine. My consort. They will never even consider harming you now." A repeating pattern, just like so many facets of his life. At least she was asking, unlike last time. Ner'zhul had assumed. She requested.

"I will."

"Then put the books down. You are going nowhere." Her stare was unflappable, unyielding. She yanked on the bell cord next to her, and a split second later, Aegwynn literally appeared in front of her.

"Jaina." The name held a multitude of thoughts, questions, warnings. "Rumors are that Varik was attacked on the streets of Theramore. Struck in the back while fleeing. Being that I saw him just minutes before that, I'd say he didn't have time to get himself into any sort of trouble."

"True. Inform General Morris that I want the draenei removed from Theramore immediately. I will not allow this assault on...my consort...to go unanswered."

"Understood."


	18. Chapter 18

Three hours. Jaina was impressed. It had taken just three hours for him to be recognized, in a town of Theramore's size, and he'd apparently spent half of that time in one place, the inn. "All of the draenei within the walls have left, Lady Proudmoore." Her general noted calmly. "They seemed more than happy to do so.

"Good."

"As you wish." The look on his face was obvious. He knew all he wanted, needed, to know. She could deal with all of the repercussions, they weren't his to worry about. He bowed, obviously waiting to be dismissed, and she waved him away. When he was gone, she moved deeper into her rooms, stepping up behind Varik. He'd been perching and fuming all morning, but at least the orgy of power he'd raised had faded to a dull, throbbing rush in the air around him.

"I swear I didn't start that." He hissed. "I tried to lose him."

"I believe you." He had been trying to lose the paladin when she realized what was going on, her attention drawn by the shouts of guards, and had appeared on the balcony to see. "I saw part of it."

"The part where I got planted in your garden?"

She had no answer for that, because that was a yes, but she wasn't about to pummel his bruised pride any more than it already had been. She wanted to reward his behavior, not punish it. He'd tried to be controlled, discreet, and he'd gotten an avenger's hammer to the back of his head for his troubles. And his reaction afterwards had made it patently clear that he was more than capable of arcane violence enough to have destroyed the paladin body and soul.

She sighed in disgust, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back, exulting in his strength when he tensed his muscles in response. She could hear the deep throbbing of his heart, the rush of air through his lungs. He was so damned alive. "Hungry?" She doubted it, Aegwynn had laughingly told her just how much he'd already eaten, but food often grounded a caster afterwards.

"Yes." The very idea seemed to perk him up, and she laughed, burying her forehead between his shoulderblades. She was just going to have to get used to the fact that he ate like an army and adjust accordingly. "We'll have lunch, then, while I wait for the draenei response."

It took longer than she was expecting, and came from a different source. Food, a bath, wine and a bed had finally calmed Varik, and he was deeply asleep when the request for her presence in Dalaran arrived. She frowned, it had been easy to give into outrage earlier, but seeing things through calm made her less assured. She was Theramore's ruler. He was under her protection. She'd had every right...

She moved into his room, gazing down at him. Was she a fool for this? So desperate, so...horny... that she would take these risks just to get laid? Endanger Theramore over it?

Taken in an orc raid. Enslaved. His innate arcane abilities noted by his captors, honed as a weapon, used by some of the best. Ner'zhul, Gul'dan. Mannoroth. Didn't that make him a victim as well? She rested fingertips on the faint scar that traced his cheek. He'd done terrible things, and admitted to them freely, but she still sensed a wholeness in him. A struggle that had been missing from many of those she'd seen after they fell. He'd given in often, but had never broken, holding himself securely safe.

And she wanted him, damn it.


	19. Chapter 19

She appeared in the main entry hall of the Violet Citadel, not surprised that Rhonin was waiting for her. "Jaina." He gave her a sideways smile. "We need to talk, come to my office."

"Of course." She followed him into his cluttered office, taking a seat in the only clear chair in the entire space.

"I have reports that you have ejected every draenei there from Theramore following an..." He lifted a page from his desk and studied it, "Assault from a draenei paladin on a guest of yours. It's not common for draenei to make an unprovoked attack, and to strike someone in the back is almost unheard of. Oddly, Velen is not disputing any of these reports, but he does want to talk to you...in person. Jaina, what the hell is going on here? Half of the draenei mages in Dalaran have left, returning to the Exodar. It's the same for Stormwind, except that they've had more than just mages leave. Paladins. Priests, all headed back to Azuremyst."

"Where does Velen want to meet?"

"Here at Dalaran. And that's another thing, he says under no circumstances are you to go to Azuremyst. Jaina... please, this is a situation. I see that, but I don't have nearly enough information to do anything about it! It's come out of nowhere. I've scryed what happened on Theramore and..."

"You have?" She was both annoyed and impressed. Of course, she hadn't been trying to keep that away from the Kirin Tor.

"Absolutely." He touched the mirror on the wall behind him and waved at it. She could see Varik step out of the inn, shade his eyes from the glare and look around, crystal clear in the silvered glass. He paused, focused on the large paladin across the street, considered the draenei for a long moment, turned and ran. The paladin gave chase, trying to charge him down, aided by empty streets, but Varik was fast, ducking into an alley. "Love this part." Rhonin snorted, and Jaina tilted her head. "Best damn self polymorph I've ever seen for something that doesn't have a natural other form."

Varik shrank, changed, in a solitary heartbeat, no casting, no motions, no spells. One moment he was a man, the next he was a woman. The fine tuning afterwards was a polymorph spell she was familiar with, it turned him from a blonde haired, brown eyed woman who looked like himself, only female, to a dark haired, blue eyed woman with no features in common.

"Have you seen a man run by?" The draenei asked, and Jaina stepped closer to the mirror to hear the exchange. Varik had tried to play it close to his chest, but no. The draenei had seen through it, how, she had no idea. The polymorph appeared perfect in the glass, but the paladin had not been fooled. "That trick never grows old."

Unless, of course, he'd used it so much that it had indeed grown old. "And we get a repeat performance of that polymorph." Rhonin sighed, when Varik ran again, this time headed straight for her tower, starting his flight as a small, dark haired young woman and melding back into himself fast enough to not even unbalance his fleeing strides.

"Incoming avenger's hammer...on a target that has done nothing but flee from the beginning...and..."

Varik spun, his face contorted in rage,waving the casting circle into being around him. It ripped into reality, tearing the blades of grass into a flurry of debris that swirled until they were devoured by the magic coalescing at his command. "You just need to..." He shouted in Orcish, heavy, dark, commanding syllables.

The scry faded, she didn't need to see any more. She'd been there for the rest of it.

"So, I have a mage, under your protection, attacked at Theramore by a draenei paladin of all things. Your response is to eject all the draenei from Theramore. The draenei response is to pull back to Exodar in force, and for Velen to ask us to ask you for a meeting. Somehow this is starting an incident, Jaina... please enlighten me."

"You remember the spellbooks I took from Icecrown?"

"Yeeeesssssss." His answer had the definite feeling that he had heard that one coming back to bite him in the ass.

"That's their author... Varik Shadowmoon. That's why he's yelling in Orcish. The paladin attacked him because..." She bit her lip, "The draenei consider him a war criminal. He helped sack Shattrath." She stared into nothingness for a long moment, "He helped sack Stormwind."

"So, it's not just the draenei that will consider him that." He sat back, balancing his chin on his knuckles. "Jaina, that's not a warlock, that's a mage."

"I know, and he knows. He's not an orc, either. He's human."

"That, I don't know. But I am certain what I'm looking at is that arcane magery that attracted your attention in the first place. And, of course, assaulting someone in your demense was rude to say the least... He's under your protection, I assume... especially now that I know who he is."

She tightened her will, locked her jaw, and stared Rhonin in the eyes. "Varik Shadowmoon is my consort."

He hid his face in his hands, leaning back in his chair. "Consort." He echoed slowly. "You barely know him. There are hundreds, thousands, of others who would have held that position with pride and valor, Jaina."

And I wanted none of them. "I will not give him up to the draenei, Rhonin. They will not condemn him to the Arcatraz. I will not permit it! I've given up too much already, I'm not giving him up. Call me selfish, but that's it. For once, I am going to get what I want, I deserve it."

"You deserve everything that we can give you and more, Jaina. I just don't want to see you hurt again."

"I will see Velen now." She sighed. Rhonin had his heads up, he now knew what he was getting into. But she wasn't going to sit still for a lecture, from a man who hadn't exactly made the most conservative choice when it came to spouses.

"Right. This way. He's been waiting."

Great. Just...dandy.


	20. Chapter 20

There were three draenei in the smaller meeting room, Velen, and two paladin guards. "Lady Proudmoore." He greeted, rising to his hooves and bowing his head slightly. "Good of you to agree to see me under such short notice." His bookends stared impassively ahead, and she studied them. They seemed oddly subdued, withdrawn.

"Not at all, Prophet Velen." She gave back, sitting across from him while Rhonin took the seat at the head of the table. "You wanted to speak to me?" Let him take the first jump... see where he went, and more importantly, how he got there.

"I understand that you have offered shelter to one Varik Shadowmoon."

Well, he got there the short and direct route. No surprise. "I have, indeed."

The bookends' impassivity wavered, that was obviously not what they had hoped to hear, but Velen remained calm, thoughtful. "And has the Deathcaller admitted his past to you?" He asked slowly.

"Varik admits to having been with the Orcish wars against the draenei, the sacking of Shattrath. He admits to a close working relationship with Ner'zhul and Gul'dan. He admits to having murdered his own people to seal his compact with the Orcs. He admits to entering the Blood Pact with Mannoroth." Every point caused Rhonin's expression to collapse just a little more, and Jaina truly empathized with him. If she was on the other side of this, she'd be screaming against her stupidity. "He admits to a leadership role in the Horde during their invasion of the Eastern Kingdoms, the sacking of Stormwind."

"If he had been listened to, the orcs would not have lost so easily..."

"So he says." Odd that Velen of all people would uphold that.

"Firstly, Jaina, I want to apologize for Immanuil's response to running headlong into Varik on your streets. I assure you, it runs contrary to the protocol established for making contact with him again...unless he was engaged in violence."

"There's a protocol?" She just had to hear this one. She'd never dealt with anybody who had an established protocol for a stray meeting before..

"Absolutely. He was not to be approached, and under no circumstances, was he to be engaged, as long as it seems he was not dead set on slaughter."

"Oh." Rhonin muttered into the bated silence. "I feel better now."

Velen wrinkled his nose in something that could have passed for amusement. "You should. Unless he's provoked, Varik is not known to freely give in to his bloodlust. He works to avoid it, he did during the Draenor campaigns, he did during his time here on Azeroth. Once he gives in, then he puts the orcs around him to shame. Varik tried to field a strictly strategic conflict, tried to use his curse as a tool. Had he been allowed a larger say in the conflicts, the draenei would have fared better, and Azeroth would have fared worse. But that is neither here nor there. Varik is here. Varik is awake."

"Varik is mine."

She expected shock, anger, something...not laughter. "Varik is yours." He repeated, tilting his head.

"You think he will stray?" It was a thought she'd had herself...

"Varik? No. His loyalty has been truly established, Jaina. One of the weaknesses that Gul'dan used against him...he is loyal to a fault. If Varik believes that he is yours, then he is. Give him what he wants, and he is like the most devoted dog there is...and I mean that in the kindest of ways. It would be wonderful to see him form that attachment to someone who would not use him wrongly. Varik needs someone to hold his leash, Lady Proudmoore. And you claim ownership of him?"

"Varik is my consort."

"And he'll be a fine one, I'm certain. Here is my offer, Lady Proudmoore." Offer? She stared at him warily. "I will make Theramore off limits to my people, as the home of the Deathcaller and his consort, so we do not have any more misunderstandings there." He steepled his fingers. "In return, you will promise me that the Azuremyst Isles, in their entirety, are off limits to him. If we find him there, we will drag him before the naaru in chains. And we will find him, no matter what form he tries to hide in. The naaru say that Varik has a good heart, Lady Proudmoore, and I'm willing to give him the room to prove them right, but if I ever catch him anywhere near one of our settlements again, that's it. I will also not take this to Varian Wrynn, and when he hears about it, I will be certain to advise him as to what the naaru have to say about your consort." He contemplated the table before him before locking his shining eyes on Jaina's face. "Agreed?"

"Agreed."

He nodded, standing to stalk away without another word or motion, his guardians trailing on his tail. Rhonin watched him go, before shrugging. "One of these days I'm going to have to meet this man, Jaina. He's got you falling for him, and Velen nervous. I hope you know what you're doing, though."

So do I.

Varik was still asleep when she returned, gracelessly sprawled out in his sheets, and as naked as usual. The man had no modesty to speak of... She studied him, tightening her lips. Why? Why? She was creating havoc in her wake, but still couldn't step back from it, from him. She leaned over him, he was freshly bathed, and had the scent of an herb soap over his usual smell. She rested her hand on his chest, not surprised when he woke immediately, opening his eyes.

"Jaina." He greeted with a smile, then paused, wrinkling his nose. "You smell like draenei."

Yes, that's natural. She stroked her fingers downward, following the swirls of hairs that pointed the way. It flowed into his pubic hair, pale brown and bouncy under her touch. His gaze was fascinated, yet wary...no fool here. He was soft still, a bare handful when she cupped him. "I met with Velen."

And, if possible, he got even softer, his gaze much less fascinated and much more wary. "And I have some questions."

"Woman gripping my cock and telling me she has questions has always bothered me." He muttered, scrunching up his face as she stroked him. He was putting up a valiant fight, but she could feel him growing heavier, thicker in her hands.

"I saw a scry of what happened this morning."

"Yeah, so?" That put him at ease, he relaxed slightly. But then, he'd done nothing wrong.

"I want to talk to you..." He was finally getting hard enough to handle correctly, giving her some resistance when she stroked downwards. "About your shapeshifting ability."

"Hell, I thought you were going to ask me something interesting, the way you were leading up to it." He pillowed his head on his forearms to give him a better angle to watch her from. "What about it?"

"Ah, this? No... I want you tonight, so I thought I'd get things started. But that's not a polymorph. Two archmages have looked at it, and we concur. The polymorph was when you changed after the change..."

"Right, because the bleeding draenei would have recognized me if I stayed with my actual features and coloring." He frowned at the shake of her head. "He didn't recognize me, he deduced who I was. There's a difference, yeah..just like that."

She nodded, faintly dragging her fingernails down the ridge under his cock. "I'm a shifter, it was my gift."

"I don't follow you." Of course, questioning a man she was stroking off was probably why she was getting imprecise answers.

"Finish me off, and I'll explain." He growled, "Because I don't want to concentrate like this." She considered making him try, but decided that it wasn't worth it. She leaned over, blowing gently on him. He stilled, closing his eyes when she licked his head, forcing her tongue into the tiny slit. She could already taste his cum, salty, meaty and slightly bitter. He reached out, tangling his fingers gently in her hair, his touch soft.

The problem was, Jaina had no clue. She'd been very young with Arthas, very shy. The thought was that they'd figure it all out with time. And there hadn't been much of that... "I'm...sorry, Varik, I don't..."

He only grunted in response, sitting up to get his hands under her armpits and lifting her up to rest on his chest. This, at least, she understood, and arched her back enticingly as she slid off her bodice. Breasts were good. Every man loved them, and Varik seemed to be no different, content to bury his face in them. He rolled her over onto her back, gathering her breasts together in his great hands so that he could suck on both of her nipples at once. There was nothing shy in him, being in bed with him was a straightforward, unblinking experience, and it was refreshing. His tongue was insistent, his teeth just on the edge of too much, and she arched again to push her nipples farther into his mouth. She wanted him to suck, to nip, to feel that pull deep in her groin, the warm gush of her own lust, to be ready for him when he finally entered her...

He straddled her rib cage, carrying all of his substantial weight on his knees, pushing her breasts together in those hands, and thrusting his cock between them. She was fascinated, watching the rosy pink of his cock head appear and disappear in the cleft of her breasts. It was amazingly sensual, and the way he squeezed with every thrust was torture. "Just...fuck me already, Varik!" She snarled, "Enough of this."

"Get on your knees." He commanded, and she blushed, but complied. She'd read plenty, but like with everything, there was a gulf between reality and the written word. "Not like that, it won't work." He placed his hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her head further down, to touch the bed. It was the singularly most submissive stance that Jaina had ever been in her life, and it was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time. "And your knees, farther apart." He proved the point by sliding his hands between her thighs and spreading her knees. "There." He breathed, pushing her skirt up over her back. "Nice. Yes." He split her lips with his thumbs, and Jaina shuddered when he licked hard, sucking and pulling.

"Ah!" She sobbed, clinging to a pillow. "Varik!"

"What?" He asked innocently, and she growled.

"Just...do...it!"

"Please?"

No. It was not going to happen. She wasn't going to beg him for what he should consider a gift. He should be honored, damn it, she was... Oh, by the Light, he needed to shave... no, he was doing it on purpose, deliberately dragging his stubbled chin over her clit... before licking up, and doing it again... She was going to shave him herself when this was over, and make certain he stayed that way! "Please! Fuck me, please!" She couldn't take it anymore, it almost hurt...she was so swollen and engorged.

He obliged, thrusting into her. The angle was different, he got a deeper penetration like this and she cried out again. It was too much, too too much. It hurt...no, it was fantastic. Those huge hands rested on her thighs, holding her steady while he worked.

"Yes!" She howled, thrilling to his throaty growls as he thrust harder, faster, deeper. It had never been like this before, and her orgasm was head spinning, earth shattering. He was done a few moments later, collapsing beside her and taking her into his arms while she shook.

"Shhhh." He soothed, planting a kiss on her damp brow. "Sorry, I got a little over enthusiastic there. I keep forgetting..."

"Forgetting?" She asked, her forehead resting against the scar on his chest. She felt floaty calm, perfectly content, and more than willing to take on the world to keep this.

"You're not an orc." He chuckled ruefully, breathing into her hair. "And I get the impression you don't have a lot of experience."

"Ah, no. And no."

"Nothing wrong with either one." He whispered, covering her gently with a sheet. "Now, you had questions?"

She had? Oh, yes, back when she'd started this. "Shifter?"

"Yes. I can shapeshift, within certain limits. The polymorphing comes with the usual downsides to the spell." He shrugged like it was nothing of any note, and Jaina raised herself up to her elbow.

"When you say...shapeshift...what exactly do you mean?"

"I can become other things." He gazed at her in confusion. "Certain other things, there are, like I said...limits."

"And those limits are?"

"The target race must be sentient. I must have seen a living example of it before. Target race itself must be living, and have a corporeal manifestation. Dragons don't work, still don't know why. Once I have a target race down, I can turn into four different versions of that particular race. Pretty simple."

"Four different versions?" He truly was not talking about a polymorph, but something completely different.

"Male, female, uncorrupted and corrupted, and the mix thereof."

"For how long?"

"As long as I please. If I have to polymorph to change details, then that part has a time limit. But if I'm in a base form, I guess it could be permanent. If I feel truly threatened, the urge is to go to the corrupted form."

"You were born with this?" How could the Kirin Tor have missed him? What was he?

He snorted, burying his face in her arm. "Hell, no. It came with the Blood Pact. From the Chaos Well. It's not me, it's strictly artificial, I'm afraid. I know, makes me that much less sexy."

She sat up, feeling the trickle between her thighs and sighed. "I need a towel." She muttered, going to get just that. "So," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and cleaning up the worst of the mess, "None of the orcs that drank from it seem to have gained any such abilities..."

"They gained exactly what they wanted... more brutality, more ferocity, more bravery. And the Well was just fine with that, inherently corruptible."

"So you're implying that the Well gave a user what they wanted, only...twisted?"

He snapped his finger and pointed directly at her. "Precisely, or at least that's what I'm speculating. Not enough of an experimentation pool there, thousands of orcs that all turned into butchers, and one lonely human."

"So what did you want?" She asked, resting her hands on his shoulders. His mood shifted suddenly, going dark, and she wished she could take it back.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked finally, "I wanted to be an orc. I wanted to be able to war with the Clan. I wanted respect. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be a part, to belong."

"But orc fits under the limits you gave me."

He rested his fingers on hers, his jaw along her wrist. "Yes. I truly throught if I could become an orc, that would be it. But all I did was make myself into a freak in their eyes. It was false, and they knew it. I got no respect, only derision. It was easier, and more honorable, to be this than to play at being what I would never be, even though the shift is perfect, nothing would erase their memories. It failed to do much other than putting a hook in my soul. It gave me the ability to change, but then made certain I understood that the corrupted versions it gave me were far superior. The draenei aren't afraid of me, Jaina. They aren't afraid of Varik. They're afraid of what I can become...the Deathcaller. Which isn't me, but it is."

The light was beginning to dawn, and Jaina nodded slowly. Of course, give him a gift, something he truly wanted...that was destined to fail, but add to it a path deep into his soul. Drag him down deeper, fuel his bitterness, twist him up just a little bit more. "Velen made me an offer..."

"Does it include me going to the Arcatraz?"

"No. It doesn't include you going anywhere. It does include you not going somewhere."

"Where?"

Jaina sighed, pulling on a robe and gesturing for him to follow. He did, without the robe, stepping into her office. She pointed at the map of Azeroth painted on the wall, and he stepped around her, studying it curiously. "Theramore is here." She rested a finger on the gilted circle inlaid on the eastern shore of Kalimdor. He glanced between it and the Eastern Kingdoms, obviously getting his bearings from a place he knew... to a place he didn't.

"A western continent." He marveled. "Some of my calculations suggested that, but I was always too busy to go find out. That's why here..." He laid his hand over hers, completely covering it with his own, his index finger at Theramore. "Feels so different than here..." He picked it up and pointed vaguely at the southern half of the Eastern Kingdoms, where he had been deployed at and probably originated from.

"Yes."

She stepped back to view the map easier, raising her left hand above her head to point at a group of islands far northwest of Theramore. "These are the Azuremyst Islands." She identified, and he was tall enough to get the same angle by merely tilting his head, holding her close and steady with that hand slid beneath her robes, flat against her belly. "They are where the draenei have set up habitation in Azeroth."

"Ah. Anything interesting there?"

"No, unless you care for fishing."

He chuckled darkly, "I like fish, and some sorts of fishing... Ow." She had elbowed him sharply. "Fine. I will leave the draenei alone."

"I take it by the timing of the assault this morning that you did not get the chance to purchase those books that we need?"

"No books. Two breakfasts, that is all." He rested his forehead against the back of her head. "You have lovely hair."

"As do you." She froze, this conversation was getting a little too close to a well remembered one with Arthas...

"What?"

She considered lying to him, brushing it off, but she'd grown tired of doing both to make people around her comfortable. "A discussion I had with my ex fiance. He was also blond, and the observation that he and I would probably have blond children disturbed him... after we'd already been intimate." Even after all of this time, it still bothered her, and the comment now was a test. It applied equally to Varik... they were intimate, just as intimate as she'd ever been with Arthas. Would he shy away from the obvious? Jaina wasn't young anymore, but she wasn't too old, either. To just have a child...of her own...was a desire that had never quite gone away.

He was silent for a long moment, running his fingers through her hair. "If you let it happen," He finally stated calmly, firmly, "You and I will have wondrously terrifying offspring. But that is up to you, I will say nothing more, either way."

"You already have children." She didn't want to pry, she could find out by tracing the ties to him magically, but some things should be left private.

"I do." His mood darkened, his grip tightened. "I am certain of at least one."

She sensed she was sidling towards the edge, if she really didn't want to know, she needed to drop it and change the subject. "Her mother was at Stormwind during the sacking." He finally admitted. "She ran straight to me, and begged me to keep her from the orcs. She promised me she'd do anything for me as long as I did. We both kept our bargain, until I realized she was pregnant."

"And then?"

"I gave her part of my spoils, a horse, a map, took her out well beyond the edge of our scouts, and spent a few hours looking the other direction. I would know if something cut that thread, even in my sleep. My daughter is out there, Jaina. On Azeroth." He shrugged, she could feel the shift in his balance and grip, "But if that was a thinly veiled test to see if I would...grow disturbed...as you put it, no. I won't. If you want children, I'm happy to sire them. If you don't, I will keep my mouth shut about it. Either way, the decision is yours. I am your consort, after all."

"I built Theramore from nothing." She glanced from the map to the windows, frowning. "I'd like to leave it to a child of mine." Was it hubris to think that the world deserved, needed, her children? She had been an aberration, neither of her brothers were arcanely gifted...what made her think hers would be? Of course, an arcanely gifted father would tip the scales, but that was the thought process that had given the world Medivh...

"That is the reason to build." He agreed calmly, stolidly. "My thought when I was set upon Azeroth was that the Clan was building, and that my offspring would gain from that. I was wrong then, but that doesn't mean that..." He turned her around, walking her to the window, "It doesn't work in better circumstances. Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

Both? Hardly, he was already convinced. That only left herself. "I feel like I'm rushing."

"Quick decisions are prudent when time is of the essence."

Which was a graceful way of pointing out that Jaina wasn't as young as she used to be. "Jaina...don't think your way out of an opportunity. It's better to jump and then figure out where you're landing, sometimes."

"React instead of plan?" That went against everything she was, or did it? She spent her life reacting to everybody else's problems, and not nearly enough planning her own life...

"How would you feel if you never had one?"

She closed her eyes, turning away. "Damn you."

"For asking you to know your own truth? You'd damn me for that? Or because I dare ask it out loud?" His voice was edging with iron. "If you want a pandering sycophant for your consort...beside you, in your bed, in your life, siring your children...you better let me know that now. I'm tired of having the crap beaten out of me for saying the truth."

"No." To have someone angry at her, condemning something she'd done out of turn...how long had it been? Only Aegwynn came close to that. "You're right, Varik. I want you to tell me the truth. To ask me the difficult questions."

He seemed slightly placated, stepping back from her. "Then we're trying?"

"Yes."

He grinned wickedly, "I've never...tried...before. That's a new one."

"Have I created a monster?" He seemed lusty enough without a goal and a time constraint added on.

"No. Not yet. Not yet." He paddled back into her room, and she could see him getting dressed. "I'll go see about those books, and maybe find some more clothes."


	21. Chapter 21

Back onto the streets of Theramore, but this time Varik was not nearly as light hearted as he been the last time, just this morning. Now he was certain too many people were watching him, of course, he'd made a scene in front of many of them. He rarely cast in front of people who weren't in his Clan, unless he was trying to kill them. But he needed to hurry, the shops wouldn't be open long, and he wanted those books. And a change of clothing.

He heard the murmuring, imprecise voices behind him, but he ignored it. Let them talk. Let them stare. Let them point.

It was easy to fall back into his usual ground eating, world owning stride, even when an older, larger man strapped into a full harness of plate armor stepped into the street before him. There was no attempt to hide that the man was measuring him, weighing him, and Varik growled under his breath. Another damned paladin?

"Hail." The man stated, and Varik stopped a wary distance away from him, out of immediate sword range. "I am General Morris, of the Theramore Guard."

And that could be good, bad, or merely indifferent. "Make it quick." Varik stated, "I need to get something before the shops close."

"Then I will walk with you."

Which meant that the man closed that distance. Varik only shrugged, making a half wave for the man to come with him as he moved along the street. "What is it?"

"First, I wanted to give you my personal apologies as to this morning. I was not aware that Lady Proudmoore had expanded her household, or that you had a history with the draenei that could lead to violence. Now that I am aware, I will be more vigilant." At Varik's dubious stare, the man shrugged. "Lady Proudmoore has briefed me somewhat. I am assured that you are a mage?"

"I am." The man's gaze was dubious, looking Varik up and down again.

"Never seen a mage with muscles?" They were almost to the bookstore, hopefully the man would get to the point quickly because the last thing that Varik wanted to do was to be caught buying baby books by Jaina's general.

The man laughed outright, a healthy, hearty laugh. "I have, actually. Lord Rhonin, head magus of the Kirin Tor, is a very fine example of a weapon toting mage with some bulk to throw behind it. "But you need to do something around here to keep those... Varrick, is it?"

His pronunciation was off, he made it the human name so close to what it was supposed to be, and Varik only nodded slightly. Close enough, and he'd probably have to get used to it anyways...arguing the Orcish pronounciation would just invite too many questions. "Well, I'm inviting you to come spar on the lists with us when you have some free time." The man continued, "Otherwise, you'll lose your edge."

True. Varik nodded, stepping onto the stoop of the small bookstore he'd been heading towards. "Absolutely." He smiled, and the man smiled back. "That would be appreciated." While Varik was undeniably a caster first and foremost, he liked having the ability and heft to be a respectable combatant as well. And if his current position was as consort, he needed to look the part as well.

"Good, good." The man stepped back, waving Varik onward to the bookseller. "I will be seeing you, then."

Right. Varik watched him stride away, before turning to enter the shop. He was immediately hit by that wonderful smell, vellum, parchment, leather, cloth and inks. Books...

"Afternoon." The older woman at the counter greeted him, giving him a once over. "Can I help you?"

He sighed, he'd prefer to find them himself, but she'd know once he paid for them, and time was short. It was best just to get it over with. "I need a set of elementary primers, graduated." He considered lying, claiming it for a child, but instead left it at that. It was not her business, and hopefully, she'd just assume it was for a child of his. He was more than old enough to have a handful of that age.

"Ah, of course." The request didn't seem to faze her at all, she waved him to follow her into a small back room, and pointed at a group of shelves, each section holding a matched set. He stood, torn. Logic told him that he needed the cheapest set possible, these were fleeting, but he couldn't quite bring himself to even look at the sets he understood were poorly made. He'd always had expensive tastes, but now...

In spite of his better judgment, he slid the first one of a much higher quality set out. It was not a child's book, not small for small hands, but easily adult sized. The pages were heavy, embossed, intricately printed. While it definitely had the beginner's lessons he needed, it set it forward in an adult manner he found reassuring.

"Fifty silver for the set." She stated immediately, "Not a penny less." Her eyes flicked towards the windows and the setting sun, and he knew she was in no mood for haggling. And it was a fair price, amazingly so. He nodded, and she hurried to bundle the set and present it to him. He paid, hefting it over his shoulder and stepping into the growing twilight. It was a beautiful evening, and he slowed to admire it, moving towards the docks instead of back to Jaina's Citadel.

He made it as far out as the dock went, staring out over the indigo waves tossing below him. Gulls wheeled in the velvet sky above him, and he suddenly felt a comfortable peace wrap around him.

He sensed her presence behind him, the push of power cresting before her like an arcane bow wave was unmistakable. "Jaina." He greeted softly, almost sad to break the spell with his own voice.

She stepped up beside him, her hair flowing loosely in the breeze. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just wanted to join you." She stood next to him, almost awkwardly, and he sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder. He knew that they were being greedily watched by several pairs of eyes, this was hardly the most private of surroundings. He almost expected her to pull away from him, but she rested her fingers on his hand, staring in the same direction that he had been. "I hate it when it gets like this. This quiet, this peaceful." She sighed, and he frowned slightly.

"Waiting for the next disaster?" He finally asked, and she gave him a grateful look through her lashes.

"Exactly. It's like I get reminded what I'm missing, what could be if things would just calm down."

He remained silent... things would never calm down. That was a dream he had long since stopped chasing. The only place to be was at the head of the mess, because everybody else just got swept up and trampled in its wake.

"Did you at least manage to get the books this time?"

"I did."

"Good." She gave the harbor one last dark stare, before shaking it off and giving him a half smile. "Let's go get some use out of them, I could use a distraction."

Well, distraction was his job description, so he picked up the books and fell into step behind her. She seemed a little off, and he measured her stance. Yes, something was wrong. "What is it?" He finally stepped into it, if it was Ner'zhul, he would have remained stubbornly, bitterly silent, but he'd give it a try...time to learn the limits of this relationship.

"Aegwynn is gone." She admitted. "It's as if she was waiting for you to arrive. Like that was the only thing holding her here." She sounded sad, but not angered, not confused.

"You knew it was coming?"

"Yes. She told me it was."


	22. Chapter 22

It took Varik merely four days to realize that being Jaina's consort was not entirely a time intensive job. It was assumed that he would manage to amuse himself during the day, when she was busy. And Aegwynn's departure meant two things...Jaina was very busy, and what little advice he'd been getting from Aegwynn had dried up like a small spring in Hellfire.

And Varik was one of those sorts who needed much more to keep him going than a room full of books. He loved books, he loved learning, and that moment of epiphany when everything fell into place, but he was also a very physical man. He was recovering fast, eating well, and pleasing Jaina barely put a dent in his visceral need to do something less cerebral than flipping pages. It was time to take her general up on his offer.

He slipped into one of his new shirts and pants, ignoring the first set of lustrous, dark blue robes in his clothes press. No, no casting. He stepped out of the tower into yet another brilliantly sunny day, moving towards the barracks and the lists. There was a brisk breeze off of the bay, and all in all, it was a fine day to be alive...

"Ah, Lord Varrick." General Morris greeted him immediately, and Varik gave the man a lopsided grin. Neither was correct...

"No 'lord' here." Well, not among these people. He'd earned his warlord title in the Horde, here, all he was doing was topping an archmage. It was pleasant indeed, but hardly a 'lord' worthy achievement. "Just Varik."

"Ah, then, Varrick. Your weapon of choice is...?"

"Cut and thrust sword." It had been a joke in the Clan, and had...until he'd killed a few people over it...earned him the nickname Boysword. But every Orcish weapon he'd ever wielded, especially after he'd had his hand crushed at Shattrath, had been too big, too clumsy, too heavy. It had been a joy to finally wrap his fingers around a human crafted sword with the right weight and balance.

"Really?" Morris seemed almost surprised, "With your weight and height, I would have guessed you for a bastard sword wielder, or heavier."

Varik stared at him, trying to judge if once again, he had to beat the silly out of someone teasing him, but no, the man seemed bluntly forthright and non judgmental. He sighed, holding up his hand as explanation, palm toward himself, back of his hand to Morris. "Has something to do with this." He sighed, shaking his head. "I zigged when I should have zagged."

"No shit." The man marveled, completely without malice. "Does the ring finger straighten completely, or is that it?"

"That's it."

"So, you have a shortened and weakened grip?" Still, completely lacking malice, merely catagorizing what he had to work with. Varik nodded slowly, unwilling to admit even that obvious weakness. Kargath had cut his own hand off...completely... Varik should be able to handle life without his smallest finger. It had been beyond embarassing that the experience had come so close to killing him. "Fine, cut and thrust it is."

Varik nodded, pushing that particular memory away. No need to revisit that, all who could hold that against him were either dead, or far, far away. "I'm going to go ahead and arm you with live steel, although we're not going to be using it here. You may need it, and I'd hate to look back and wish I'd given you a blade..."

The man led him into a well stocked armory, moving to the side. Several swords hung from the walls, and Varik picked one of them up thoughtfully. "No. Not that one. It's not long enough, it won't make the most of your reach." Morris said with barely a second thought or glance, and Varik hung it back without comment. "No...no...no." The man breathed, his gaze going over each of the blades. "Hmmmmm...maybe." He lifted a blade completely foreign to Varik, glancing between Varik and it.

"That one is shorter than the one you told me was too short." Varik teased, and the man nodded slightly. "What is it?"

Morris motioned at him, and he sighed, reaching out and accepting the hilt in his grasp. A good balance, and a perfect weight...it fit in his hand like it was made for him. No fancy doodads, no glowy gems, just an exemplary blade, with a thick guard to protect his abused and weak hand. "Kul'tirasian captain's saber." The man identified, "Heavy on the cut, light on the thrust. Guards your hand, what it gives in reach it makes up for in weight." He smirked, and Varik gazed at him through narrowed eyes. "Nothing like that. It's just fitting that you may help keep Jaina Proudmoore safe with it. Now, let's get started, and see where you stand..."

It was good to step onto sand, with a practice blade in his hand, and to give into an increasingly difficult dance with Morris. He was not as sharp as he was used to, and the older, heavier man pushing him had not spent the past years playing dead. And practice blade just meant it wasn't going to lop off any of his body parts, not that it didn't still hurt. Morris seemed less than willing to pull his blows, landing a few that stung, burning deeply, until he suddenly just stepped back and went into a guarded position. Varik took three steps backward, well out of range, before he dropped his own guard and waited.

"Right." The man stated, "I can work with this, if you're still willing?"

"Of course." It took more than a few blows with a blunted practice sword to cow Varik. He was a big boy.

"It's almost lunchtime at the barracks. You're welcome to join us if you have the time, or inclination."

In other words, is our lady's new bed warmer a man, or a candy ass too good for a mess hall? Varik read right through it, and only grinned in answer. "Is there beer?" He asked with a conspiratorial glance at the man, "Jaina drinks wine. It's..." He grimaced, "wine."

The man clapped him on his back, pointing ahead. "Of course we have beer."


	23. Chapter 23

Her rooms were silent and empty when Jaina stepped in, and she frowned. What was she expecting, him to be here like some coddled lapcat, just waiting for her? No, she'd made it pretty damned clear that his days were his own. The fact that he wasn't here was a good sign, she should be heartened that he felt secure enough to set foot outside. He could be skittish, spooky, distant. She understood why, but he needed to grow beyond that. And if he wasn't here, hiding in her rooms, then he must be out doing just that.

She sighed, sitting in her chair and picking up the uppermost letter. While she did most of her Theramore business from her Citadel office, she liked to keep her more personal, pressing, private, or magely work here. She rested her fingertips on the edge of her desk...she didn't want to think he'd pry, but...

No. The wards were quite distinct, he had not been within three feet of her desk at any point in time. She could feel him through them, he had a very distinctive arcane signature, dark and roiling, obscured by eddies of conflicting powers. Although she knew she was prying, she focused on the shadow of it captured in the inner wards, trying to filter out the later added muck to actually see his base signature. It would help understand him, and later, to teach him...

But there was so much obfuscation...she locked her jaw and focused. All of the dark, all of ebb and flow instability, was not innately his. It was an affliction, just like the patterning she'd seen on...

Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded. Worgen. So close...yes. He wasn't worgen, but the basic magical concept was the same. All she had to do was edit that out, and...

The answer was heartbreaking, just as she was steeling herself for. And it gave so many answers... She chuckled, shaking her head. He was wrong. The Well hadn't given him what he wanted, he'd used the sudden wealth of arcane power he'd been given to give himself what he wanted. The Pact had allowed it, because the corruption and his reliance on that power had tied him just as it would have wanted, but its expression was all his. He had been a fantastically gifted and woefully untrained mage, suddenly given the key to make what he wanted happen for him.

"So beautiful." Before she would have not believed it, but now, with a few days spent around him, she had no doubts that this stable, concrete, and serene pattern was indeed his. She just had to help him find his way back to this.

She heard footsteps on the stairs, and guiltily banished the spell. It had to be him, although he wasn't striding heavily, he couldn't obscure his weight.

He opened the door, and Jaina's jaw dropped. He froze the first moment he saw her, his gaze wary and suddenly distant. "Ah...Jaina." He murmured as if he'd been caught doing wrong, and from what she saw, everything he'd been doing was quite right. He was still flushed from exertion, his shirt was clasped in his hands, and all he was wearing was loose, wide pants knotted at his waist, and a sword belt. A welt, the color of unspilled blood, marked his ridged abdomen. And she smelled sweat, good sweat...of a man who'd started the day clean and had worked up a sweat... not a sweat of filth or fear. And she smelled beer, again, recent...not stagnant. "Sorry, I thought..." He shrugged.

"Varik." She said, standing up. "Stop it. You're an adult. You are not my servant, you are free to do as you see fit. I made it clear that I am often busy and you should be doing things on your own. I was happy to see that you had ventured out..." She moved closer and gently rested her fingertips on the welt, "Although this might come with an explanation."

Definitely, he smelled of beer. And sunlight. And salt breeze. He twitched under her touch like a horse twitching away a fly, sucking in his abdomen. "Your general hits like an orc." He chuckled, and she gave him a sideways look. Morris? Smacking up on her consort...why?

"He invited me to train. So I don't get fat and weak." He gave her a wide grin, "And then we had lunch in the mess."

Well, that explained the welt and the beer. And he seemed in good spirits, his eyes lightening to their usual warm brown once he had realized she wasn't going to be angry. "Go take a bath." She murmured, stepping away from him. That was probably where he'd been headed anyway. And it was right, with the way he ate, if he didn't get out there and do something, he'd lose that brutal physical edge he'd acquired. And that would be a true, true shame... She watched him walk away from her, admiring the play of muscles in his back. Definitely. She loved the way he walked, and even the sway of the weapon belted at his side added to the effect. She waited long enough for him to strip, and slide into the water before she stepped into the room.

His gaze brightened when he saw her, and he gave her a flash of teeth when she dropped her own clothes and stepped in with him. At least she had a huge bath, because just like in bed, he claimed a large area for his own. He was quiet when she wet the soap and began to scrub him down, closing his eyes under her ministrations. He had wonderful hair, thick, heavy, a glory between her fingers.

Morris must have worked a lot of the spunk out of him, because his touch was gentle when she straddled his hips. He entered her with much less exhibition of his prowess, just a smooth, easy thrust deep into her tight wetness. He was much calmer, resting his cheek against her arm when she wrapped them around his neck, his eyes still closed, his expression restful as she caught her rythym. This time he didn't take over, his hands were on her ass, yes, but only to support her. It was all hers, to control and draw out as she saw fit. It was the sort of intimacy she'd been craving...certainly it was wonderful that he was adept, lusty, and willing to push her beyond the edge, but this...this was heaven. Dragging her wet nipples across his chest, amazing. Seeing the play of expressions cross his face, the nakedness of it without the weight of his stare, so damned close. The catch of his breath, not quite a groan, every time she pulled up and sat down, her muscles tightening around him on the up pull, and relaxing on the down slide.

His eyes opened, and he focused on her face, and she had a sudden moment of panic. Please, please, don't ruin this!

His head tilted quizzically, as if he'd heard her say it aloud. His response to whatever he'd sensed was to wind his fingers in the hair at her temples and kiss her, not with greed, but with an incredible softness. I want a lover. Not just a fuck. She'd seen his pattern laid bare before her, and she knew he could be that.

He stroked down her jawline, planting a flurry of kisses on her throat, before burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. Her orgasm was not a world graying, room spinning exercise in sexual potency, but a gently unfurling release, warm and close.

She only hoped he was finished, everything was so wet she wasn't quite certain. "Are you...?" She finally managed to ask without too much of a stutter.

He shifted to be able to see her, his expression relaxed. He looked suddenly younger, unmasked. "Yes, Jaina." He chuckled, resting his arms on the edge of the pool so that she could extricate herself when she chose to. "I am."

"Thank you."

"There you go again. No apologies. No thanks. It's not such an onerous duty to be within you that I deserve either." He kissed her on the end of her nose, an amused light in his eyes. "Now, are you going to finish with my hair, or do I need to do it for myself?"

"I'll be happy to." She said truthfully, running her soapy fingers through his waist length fall.


	24. Chapter 24

The ships that plied Theramore's natural deep draft bay were a source of great fascination to Varik. He'd had full of concerns with the Horde's use of them, simply because he...and they...hadn't understood a damned thing about naval operations. That had gone one hundred fold more for the dragons, and he'd been proven correct about both of those...

So he'd gotten a lunch, and had come up on the battlements to watch the ships, a notebook in hand. "You sail?"

He about jumped out of his skin, dropping his pen and notebook, a fine edge of arcane power trailing his fingertips as he readied for his first cast. "Ah, no." He said, frowning as picked up what he'd dropped. He'd been stupidly transfixed if a man in full plate could come up on him like that, but Morris had. He was getting soft... "I don't, actually."

The man regarded him warily, and Varik stared back. He was aware that Morris had gotten a full look at the open page of the notebook, and grasped at least part of the notes he'd been making. "There are many fine treatises on naval manuevers here in Theramore, Varrick. I'd be more than happy to get you one, and to teach you the basics."

"That would be most welcomed."

"You busy today?" The older man glanced back towards the Citadel, back towards Jaina's tower, and Varik laughed outright.

"She's got some sort of very important meeting today." He shrugged. "And tomorrow."

"I don't mean to insult you." The man tore his gaze back to the bay. "It's not something I'm used to dealing with. And you're not precisely the sort I would have expected."

"Oh?" Varik asked, standing, stamping the blood back into his legs, and brushing the salty dust from his rump.

"Hmmm. If it happened, I expected..." He glanced over at Varik. "No man I would have had any sort of dealings with, if that makes any sense. I know that you're a mage. I saw it the first time I saw you, and I see it again today. Your first reaction when I startled you was to cast, not to pull the blade I gave you. I don't know where she dug you up at, but you're not one of those purple skirt wearing magely mages I see way too much of around the tower. I know they can fry my brains with a gesture and a click of the tongue, but they're still entirely too precious for me. But you... you pop a practice blade, you take hits I know left bruises, grinned the whole time, and chased it all down with beer afterwards. I've seen mages missing fingers, it's actually pretty common. I've seen warriors missing fingers, also common enough. Yours is the latter, not the former. Mages sever their fingers. Yours was from a blow."

"I've been in a few scuffs in my life." Varik smiled, tucking his notebook under his armpit.

"Bullshit." The man growled back, and Varik raised a brow. "You've been in combat. There's a difference. Not sure why you and Lady Proudmoore are hush hush on that, but you both are, and I respect that." He gave a half smile, "Kind of like why you're both hush hush on your Orcish accent, your Orcish name, and the rest of that Orcish clan mark that I got to see part of when I hit you in just the right place."

"So the other day was a test." Why was he even surprised?

"I wanted to get the measure of Lady Proudmoore's new mystery consort. I admit that." The man whistled as he began the descent off of the walls. "I'd be a fool not to. What I will admit is that I am impressed."

Varik pondered the words as he followed. "Thank you." He finally settled on what felt to be the most truthful, yet safest, reply he could come up with.

"No thanks necessary. We have a sloop getting ready for a training run for a few hours, it will be nothing at all to add you to her compliment. I only hope you're not prone to seasickness."

That made two of them.

Jaina stood at the end of the docks, frowning into the breeze. Varik had left Theramore, and was now far enough away for his absence to be noticed. She hadn't really been keeping an eye on him, but she'd noted the odd void his distance had triggered. "General Morris." She began blandly, and the man saluted. "Have you seen Varik?"

"Indeed I have, Lady Proudmoore." He glanced in the direction she'd been staring in. "He's on the Go Lightly."

A training sloop, their best. She chuckled, shaking her head. "First swords, and now the sea?"

"He already knows the sword. He just needs the conditioning back. And he expressed an interest in ships... Am I not supposed to indulge his more martial of interests?" He asked it with just a tinge of concern, and Jaina regarded him. "Lady Proudmoore, permission to speak candidly?"

"Of course."

"I've been laboring under the idea that you trust that man. That you are smarter and more observant than I am. And if I can hear an Orcish accent, and an Orcish name...then you have. And if I can see a clan mark, then you have."

"He was...captured." She shrugged, "Very early on." Let the man make the obvious, logical, and incorrect assumption... the same as she had. "There's nothing you can teach him that would make him any more of a threat, if he chose to be one. But I don't believe he will be."

"Then I will keep on. You're used to intellectuals, Lady Proudmoore. He isn't one."

"He isn't purely one." She disputed. She'd read those spellbooks. She'd watched him learning to read Common. He had a fine intellect, easily equal to his physique. "But he does have a greater physicality than I was expecting."

"Nothing wrong with that."

No, nothing at all. "I would never tell you to keep my consort amused, General Morris. But if you find him acceptable to spend time with, then by all means. Teach everything you're willing to that he wants to learn."

Relief crossed his features and he nodded. "He's easy to be around." He muttered. "Cheerful."

Jaina bit her bottom lip. Varik Shadowmoon, necromancer, Warlord of the Old Horde, was 'easy to be around' and 'cheerful'. There was something terribly wrong about that, but she couldn't argue it. "If he stays at Theramore, it would be useful if he could sail. And a sword, never say no to another one of those..."

"And, milady..." He had that edge that made it clear he was still operating under 'speaking candidly'. "It does us, your military, good to see even a proxy for you amongst us. I know that you are not militarily inclined, and I don't expect you to be. But sometimes, we feel like a bit of a fifth wheel here. You're very busy, you're very important, you're very distant from us. The fact that your consort will train with us, sail with us, eat and drink with us...has done wonders for morale already."

"Understood." There were only so many things she could do. But if Varik could be that for her, it would make things just a little easier. A proxy to her own men. A cheerful, beer drinking, practice sword swinging, easy to get along with soldier to be her extension...amongst her soldiers. "Then by all means; if he's willing, if you're willing, then continue."

After the first half hour of a rather unhappy stomach, and spinning head, Varik had shrugged off any ill effects from becoming acquainted with the sea. Not long after that, he realized that sailing was a great thrill, a task that managed to meld both his need to do something physically...and the need to learn a new mental challenge. He was hooked within that first hour. jubilant with the whole experience, far ahead of all of the younger, smaller men fumbling their way through their first training exercises. This was a glory. This was a wonder. He loved it. And it was a wonder that didn't involve unleashing his darker side and slaughtering those in front of him... it was only him, a ship, and the ocean. Like magic. Only him. His calling. And the expression of those gifts.

"Well, Lord Varrick." The sail master of the Go Lightly marveled, "You take to the sea like a Proudmoore born!"

And Varik was sad to realize that the day was winding down, that they were headed back into Theramore. "It's wondrous." He stated truthfully, and the man clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit!"

All but the farthest reaches of the western horizon behind her were dark when the Go Lightly pulled into berth, and Jaina glanced over her mostly inexperienced and young crew. She was a Proudmoore, she'd been sailing since she could walk, even though it was never her calling, it had been a source of pride. Of belonging to her blood, her family.

She recognized the discomfort of many, but Varik's grin was wide and bright in the dimming light when he caught sight of her presence on the dock. "Jaina!" He crowed, walking gracefully barefoot down the gunwhale and hopping over the water to land on the dock before her. He breathed thrill and contentment, and she blinked in amazement. This was the man that Morris had met, that 'easy going' and 'cheerful' man that was raising her men's morales. The darkness in him was still there, but it was banished below this genuinely happy man. A greatly sized man, with a heart to match... Sadness and relief warred in her mind, she was sad that he'd been put through hell and relieved that he could smile now. If he was strong enough, willing enough, to start shedding his previous life, he deserved her respect, her help, and enough room to manage it. She could have this as a consort, openly.

"Ooof." She sputtered when he hugged her, spinning her around him with a broad chuckle. She expected something she'd have to deal with later, when he put her gently back on her feet, but every person who'd seen him was grinning with joy.

"It was fantastic!" He proclaimed, as if his grin and the gaze in his eyes didn't say that so much louder than his deep voice did.

"Lady Proudmoore. This one is a born sailor." The Go Lightly's aged sailing master said softly, regretfully, and she knew what he didn't want to say. If Varik had been born on Kul'tiras, this aptitude would have been discovered during his childhood, and he would have been apprenticed then. Now, at his age, it was too late to make him what he could have been. He was still easily a handful of years older than she was, now that the edge, hunger and distance was wearing away, he seemed younger than the almost forty she'd originally been leaning towards, but he was solidly in the thirties that she had just begun. "An admiral, if we'd found him..."

"Twenty five years ago."

Varik glanced between the pair of them, and she expected some sort of regret, lack, in his gaze when he grasped what they were discussing, but he only shrugged. "My calling is magic." He said simply. "While this is amazing, it would have never been that, even if you'd found me then. It's not something I've lost, it's something I've found." He brushed it away, "I'm starving, Jaina. When's dinner?"


	25. Chapter 25

Life was good. Varik had rarely been so content, pleasing Jaina at night, reading her books, training with her soldiers, and learning her ships by day. If the goal of settling her with child remained out of his grasp, he was patient. Just three months was not nearly long enough to plant the seeds of doubt in his mind, to cause concern. It would happen, in due time.

He had settled firmly and without difficulty into his new position. Certainly, it was consort...again, but there was a gulf in sanity and disposition between his previous benefactor and his current one, so much that it didn't quite feel like he was even repeating himself. What he had with Jaina was different. Milder. Healthier. It didn't tear him apart, tear him up, as Ner'zhul had. Finally, finally, he served someone who was steadfast, even keeled, whose goals didn't give him nightmares while he slept. But that was the problem... lately, there had been nightmares again. He'd hoped he'd left those behind him in Draenor, and the first two and a half months here had brought him peaceful nights.

But no more.

He jerked awake, shifting Jaina, who had fallen asleep with her head on his arm. He held himself completely still, trying to calm his ragged breathing, his thundering heart, and not wake her.

"I know you're awake." She stated firmly into the darkness, and he sighed, sitting up.

"I..."

"Now it's my turn to tell you to hold your apologies." She stood up, lighting a single candle. Somehow, it made the room smaller, more intimate, safer. "Do you often have nightmares?"

"Depends on what's going on. I just don't understand why they're picking up now, after nothing."

She stared into the candle flame, then began to blow slowly on it to create smoke. He watched it flow, knot in the air. "Are they always just dreams?"

"No. Not always. Yours have been..."

She nodded, pensive. "Mine have been escalating. Yours start again. Tell me about the last ones of these that you had."

He felt suddenly cold, although the night was balmy, and he left the bed...seeking the fresh air and grounding reality of the balcony. "I had a series of nightmares like this before Teron Gorefiend opened his portals, I saw Ner'zhul taken in the Nether." And this one held the same warning, bated weight. Except now, he was cut off from the sources he would have normally used to try to comprehend it... the only shamans around were draenei. He was not used to trying to use his own abilities to grasp his flashes of insight, it had not come to him as intuitive, and there had been no one to train him. Every person around him that might have been able to had been a fallen shaman, a newly fledged warlock...and he'd never been able to grasp either concept. The spirits did not speak to him, and the demon servitors that gave a warlock power would not answer his calls.

She walked up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as she insinuated herself under his arm. He agreeably rested it over her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "Be careful, Jaina." He whispered, all too well aware that he'd said that before, to no avail. "Something is coming."

The last time he'd tried that, he'd gotten his jaw dislocated, but her response was to rest her forehead against his chest, her hand against his belly. "I will be." She promised. "As long as you promise the same."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about me, Jaina. I have retreat down to a fine art." He'd been one of the first to withdraw from Khaz Modan, headed south across Thandol. One of the first to break and head solidly towards the Dark Portal, back for Draenor. Those actions had saved so many, held together Ner'zhul's army, given them enough so that they could put things back together again... and for that, he'd been painted a coward many times over. "I was a part of every single successful Horde withdrawal in the war." Not exactly anything to be proud of, but it was the truth.

"Really?"

"Absolutely." He raked his fingers into his hair. "I've run away before, Jaina. If I can't win, I'll do it again. I stand as long as I can, but that's it. I've long since come to peace with that, and the taunts that come with it."

"So, you've had these before, and they've been valid." She seemed perfectly willing to let what he'd just said drop like a brick and lay there unnoted and unremarked upon. "I will take that into consideration, then. It just underscores what I already know."

"Which is?" That he was a coward? Or...

"Something is coming." She proved it was the latter, talking a firm hold on his braid and giving it a slight pull. "Come back to bed, Varik. Try to get some more sleep."

"That's not supposed to be a tether." He noted, following her anyway.

"You grow it long enough to use it as such." She teased softly, leading him back to her bed. "Twice as long as mine."

That was so, but he'd never given it much attention. It was more common for males to have longer hair...at least it had been. Most of the men here had short cropped hair, close, like a peon's, while most women in Theramore grew it long. But there was no way in hell he was going to shear his short...he refused.

He settled back into his spot in bed, making a thickly contented sound when she curled up against him. He would not sleep. He knew better, but he'd just have to make the best of it. And he'd been in much worse 'making the best of it' situations.

However, he was wrong. It was as if the fact that he'd said it, and that she had bothered to listen, was all that it needed, and he slipped back into a calm, peaceful sleep.


	26. Chapter 26

Dalaran had one of the finest libraries in existence, and Jaina had spent the past two hours there, skimming books. A part of every successful Horde withdrawal in the war. Horde withdrawal? When mentioned, she assumed that there had to be some, at least. It just wasn't what she'd been taught to think of... the Horde advance had been just that, an unthinking push forward. But it couldn't have been only that...

And there, leaping from the page, a precise hand inked drawing of a man she knew all too well. Clean shaven, two plaits of hair at his temples, bound with ornaments... the remainder in a single long tail high on the back of his head. He had been depicted in the garb she'd dreamed him as wearing, heavy embossed leather paneled robes, skulls peering from his shoulders. Every attempt in this rendering had been to be as accurate as possible, he was missing the finger. It had been tinted, his hair was a ruddy blond, his robes a dark graphite gray marked with red, a spellbook chained to his side, light sword hanging low on his other. There were even scaling marks in the margins giving a guess at his height, a very accurate guess at that.

"Unidentified Horde commander." The text read next to the drawing. "Khaz Modan theater, behind lines. Unknown clan. Human male, late twenties by appearance. Rides small black war wolf, very fast. Assumed to be theater primary strategist, high priority target. Expected to lead withdrawal south of Thandol, opportunity to intercept then."

She frowned, turning the page, squinting at the sharply handwritten missive. "Somebody better catch this bastard. And damn soon. Treasonous son of a bitch infiltrated Dun Modr, sabotaged its defenses, and let himself out without being noticed. It's obvious this is their tactician, and source of cultural intel. Kill the fucker, and do it fast!"

Jaina chuckled, they'd obviously been unsuccessful at that. But yes, the pages were clear. He'd been there, he'd been more than willing to orchestrate strong tactical withdrawals, but why had he faded into nothing while those around him had become names known to everyone?

"I'm not certain this is a human at all." Jaina's eyes widened, she'd recognize that hand anywhere. "The infilitration of Dun Modr was enacted by what, for all extents and purposes, appeared to be a dwarven maid. Until we know exactly what this is, I think that the possible morale blow of admitting to a 'human' apostate commanding Horde forces is too devastating, especially without adequate proof as to what, and who, this is. All line commanders know what they're looking for, all scouts as well. Let us not give this one any more opportunity for damage until we're certain."

Antonidas. She sighed, shaking her head. Yes, it seemed like there had been a comprehensive campaign by Alliance command to obscure Varik's existence except for those who were actually charged to stop him. But he'd captured Thandol Span long enough to pull the majority of Horde forces back beyond it, giving them the running room that their tactics demanded. The letters were screaming condemnations filled with grudging respect, and Jaina knew she should feel something more than what she did. All this was was proof and vindication, but even seeing Antonidas's thoughts on him, she felt no remorse. He'd done a good job, the tactical maps and profanity laced communiques made that all too obvious. But this heavily considered, cautious strategy, willing to pull back when necessary, would not have gone over well with orcs riding high on bloodlust and barbarism. It was a miracle he'd succeeded as far as he had.

"Jaina?"

"Morning, Rhonin. I'm just catching up on my consort's exploits."

He raised a brow, still deeply in the shadow of high bookshelves, and he manuevered his way through the stacks into the light. "How's that going?" He asked, sitting beside her. "It's been months now."

"It has. And it's going well. I've grown very fond of Varik, as has most of Theramore... Can I get this copied?" She held up the book, open to the portrait page, "Or is it still considered classified?"

He pulled the book from her hands, gazing at the picture. "So this is your consort?" He nodded slowly, propped the book open and waved his hands. There was a glow, and a second copy of the book sat beside the original. He nodded, then cast again, handing Jaina a larger, framed copy of the actual portrait. "Good luck, Jaina. I'm happy to hear it's working out." He seemed almost melancholy, and she stared at him. "Sorry, it's just that things..."

"Feel like they're going to go bad."

"Yes. Exactly. So you feel it as well?"

"I do. Varik does. He spent his first weeks loose sleeping like a baby, and now he has nightmares...visions."

"Do you trust him?"

She grimaced, staring at the table. "I do, Rhonin. Perhaps I shouldn't, but I do. He's shown little to no interest in picking up his previous life, and a great deal of interest in learning what he needs to know to be my consort. He trains with my men. He's learning to sail. He is willing to..."

"To?" He prompted when she silenced, picking up the original book and placing it carefully back in its place.

"Father a child. I've been holding off on that for a little while, he's been bleeding off corruption since he awoke, and I'd like as much of that gone as possible, beforehand...but."

"But." His doubts were gentle, and she clenched her lips.

"Fine. Fine. Why don't we take a look at the one he's already sired, and see for ourselves?" It was prying, but then, he had never told her not to look. Shouldn't she know before she made a step she couldn't take back?

"He has a child that you know of?"

"Yes, although she would be a young adult now." A souvenir of Varik's time in Stormwind, hardly anything she wanted to admit to Rhonin. "Let us take a look at her."

"Indeed." He murmured, leading the way to the scrying pool in his casting chamber. Unlike his office, this room was immaculately clean, perfectly in order. "Do we have a name?" He asked, leaning over the surface.

"No. All I know is that Varik is her father, and that her mother was..."

Rhonin gave her a solid stare, and she shrugged. It was his pool, his sanctum, he was bound to feel it anyway. "At Stormwind during the Horde sacking."

The stare turned into a pained look, but he nodded and focused. "Unless you really want to see, I will blur through that." He muttered, and she could see Varik in the surface, a thinner, haunted version with burning eyes, trailed by an equally thin black wolf. He was locked in discussion with an orc when a brunette woman fought her way through the guards obviously meant to keep trouble at a fair distance from the pair. She ran straight for Varik, going to her knees as she reached him, and wrapping her arms around his legs. "Please. Oh, please..."

Even knowing that it was long passed, it was difficult to see, to hear, and Jaina was relieved when Rhonin blurred and hurried it. "So that would be the mother." He said, evenly. He'd stopped truly grasping what he saw, he was reading the spell and working through the correlations. "Which would have meant... There, Jaina."

He stepped back from the pool, his gaze hooded. Jaina steeled her nerves, and opened her eyes. It showed a young woman, and there were no doubts as to her paternity. She looked an amazing amount like the first woman that Varik had turned into, only taller and thinner. She had his strong jaw, chiseled lips, bright reddish blonde hair and brown eyes. "Eleri Forbridge." Rhonin stated calmly, much of the doubt bleeding from his expression. "Jaina...I know her. Maginor Dumas has recommended her to us for further training when she completes her studies at Stormwind."

She's lovely. If this was what Varik had sired at the height of his corruption... "I'd like to see that recommendation." She stated, and he only nodded, flicking his fingertips at the image. When it went into motion, somehow the young woman managed to look even more like Varik, she had the same measuring stare, the same easy smile.

She vaguely sensed Rhonin moving away, but she had eyes only for Varik's daughter. "Eleri Forbridge. Been at the Mage Quarter in Stormwind for the past four years, in training. High marks, good recommendations. Mother...three brothers...and a father, all from Lakeshire."

Father. Jaina glanced at the image, and replayed the links that Rhonin had gone through to make the identification. Yes, that was Varik. In Stormwind. Yes. That was a woman who matched his description. She hopped it slightly, there was no way she wanted to truly know...to watch, but she was looking for...

"You. Need to come with me, woman." His voice was harsh, raspy, and he stumbled over the words in Common.

"Where do you go, Varik?" An orc, speaking orcish. The woman glanced in that direction, confused, but did not move her head from her submissive bow.

"We move north soon." Varik snapped in answer, in orcish. "No place for a woman. And I think I've gone and gotten her with brat. I intend to take her out, ride her hard one last time, and take care of the problem."

He pulled her out of the building, moving quickly. "Up." He lifted the woman easily onto a horse, casting a quick glance around and whistling. His wolf appeared immediately, falling into swaying step behind him as he walked the woman and the horse out of Stormwind, using one of the back ways.

Jaina sensed that it had been a long walk, he'd gone far, but the scry automatically compressed it. He stopped, pulling the horse to a stop and stared up at the woman. "You're with child."

Her answering gaze was panicked, her lips moved, but she made no noise.

"Mine." He growled, and the wolf pricked ears in fascination.

"Yes." She finally managed, and Jaina's heart broke for her.

He nodded, his eyes black, his expression set. "There is food. There is gold. There is a compass in the saddle bag, it will point the way to safety. I free you, on one condition."

The woman's eyes were immense, her lips trembled, but she held onto her tears. "That is?"

"You take care of my child. If I find you have not, you will serve me, forever. You've seen that is not an empty threat. You cannot get away from me in death. The only way out is to do as I ask..."

"I understand, and I will."

He only nodded, spinning away and slapping the horse on its hindquarters as he stalked towards the wolf. He jumped onto it with the ease of long experience, loping away as the woman stared after him.

"Not her father." Jaina disputed, dispelling the scry, and Rhonin nodded. "Varik is."

"Varik is her sire. Her father is whoever raised her. But there is your answer, Jaina. Several years ago, at the height of his corruption, he sired a perfectly fine example of arcanely gifted young woman. I can agree that he is up to the challenge of siring one for you."


	27. Chapter 27

Varik had been standing at the edge of the ocean, on the shore, when he felt the arrival. He tilted his head, flicking his glance to the side. Power, pressing, cascading, flowing. Jaina often had extremely powerful visitors, and he'd started to numb to them, but this... was oddly familiar and a step beyond.

Curiosity and wary concern had driven him to the bottom of the steps, gazing up. Definitely. He rested his fingers on the hilt of his sword, but shook his head at the idea. Nothing that felt like this would be even remotely impressed with a mundane sword. He climbed the steps, pausing again at the top...

"Ah, Varik!" Jaina greeted him, falsely. He measured that response, he'd interrupted something.

"Jaina?" She was not alone in the room, she had a tall, broad younger man with her, and there was no way that one's deep blue hair was even remotely natural...for the half elf he appeared to be. And still, there was that feeling, so damned familiar, and that smell in the air.

Oh. Yes. Dragon. Damn it. They were hardly his favorite to deal with, in fact, he'd done his best to avoid them. And tried to get others to as well, and that had been one of his greatest failures... They were one of the few things that actually scared him, and now there was one in what he now considered his home, speaking to his consort. He'd hoped to avoid them all, but now he was ten feet away from one staring at him with fixated attention.

"Varik?" The young man echoed, stepping forward into the light, his cyan eyes narrowed. "Varik...Shadowmoon?"

Well, that didn't take long at all. Varik took a deep breath, working out the teleportations in his mind. Draenor was still the center of his power, the world that held him close. So many places he could run to, boltholes that might even give this one pause for thought. "I am Varik, of the Shadowmoon." He confirmed slowly, feeling the edge of his casting circle form around him. The young man hesitated at the edge of it, scrutinizing it for a long moment, before reaching out to touch it.

Shit. It rippled in his fingertips as if Varik himself was testing it. "Arcane mage." He chuckled, "Explains so much. I am Kalecgos of the Blue Dragonflight, Varik of the Shadowmoon. There is no need for this. We are well aware of your role in the captivity of the Life-Binder...or more to the point, the role you didn't have in it. We know you argued against it. But why are you here in Theramore? We had information that you were killed during the transition."

"Varik is my consort." Jaina stated, and Varik fought to keep a straight face. There was something off in that, she would have preferred to not say it...in front of this one. "Varik, I'm sorry, but Kalec and I are very much in the middle of something terribly important and..."

And he'd just been dismissed. He bowed, and retreated back to the barracks, growling under his breath when he was well out of earshot. While he was happy to be away from the dragon, everything else prodded annoyance in his soul. It had been difficult when the novelty of being with the Deathcaller had worn away, and his bed mates sought others. He'd appeased himself by repeating that he was no orc, never would be, never could be. Here, at least he'd been a stellar example of his current bed mate's own race, and then she one upped him with a dragon of all things.

"Lord Varrick?"

"I need a drink." Varik admitted, and Morris raised a brow in answer.

"Early for that, but..." He waved ahead, towards the inn, and Varik led the way. He ordered dwarven whiskey, breathing in its fumes. That might just do... for a start.

"Problem?" Morris asked kindly, nursing his own coffee. "Lady Proudmoore being clueless?"

"Eh?" That was an odd way to come at it. Usually he was the one blamed for his failures, never the person he was consorted to.

"Don't get me wrong." The older man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "I respect her immensely. But I think you may be the first human male she's had a meaningful relationship with in decades. So what is that set you off today?"

"Eh." The man didn't let his gaze drop, and Varik finally shrugged. "She has a dragon up there." He admitted. "She didn't want to admit what I was to him, and then pretty much dismissed me from the apartments." It sounded childish, petty. He was better than this.

Morris only snorted, completely unsurprised by his expression. "Again, Varik... first human male. She has this amazing inability to handle things..." He contemplated his answer for a long moment, "That she might be able to have. Men that might get serious, without any true hurdles. Orcs, dragons. All damned foolishness if you ask me. And then when it's too late..."

"I can take on a lot of things. Dragons don't happen to be one of them."

"Bah. Dragons shouldn't be one of the things that you have to 'take on' for the affections of a woman who's already called you consort."

True enough.

"Finish your drink." Morris instructed, "And we'll get started on the day. Let Lady Proudmoore handle whatever world shattering problem that dragon has brought to her while you and I go train the new recruits."

"Train?"

"Absolutely. Don't think I haven't noticed what you're good for. You've led before, and you should be doing it again."

It was well past dark when Varik climbed the steps again, and he was not surprised to find the apartment empty. He'd eaten at the barracks, with the men, so that wasn't a problem. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He settled into his bed, half hoping for a peaceful night. What he got was another span of oddly disjointed warnings, darkness, and he woke to the smell of male dragon close by.


	28. Chapter 28

"I can't narrow its location down, Jaina. Everytime I get close, it's gone."

The dragon...Kalecgos...sounded worn, exhausted, and Varik contemplated his tone. Yes, it must indeed be one of those world shattering problems that Morris had alluded to, with the resignation that meant they were common enough affairs around here. Well, maybe they wouldn't notice if he slipped out... he could teleport, but he rarely did it. And it would just draw attention to his departure like a clap of thunder in such a warded, controlled place if he did...

He sighed, dressed for the day, and opened his door. Any chance of sneaking was completely out of the question, both Jaina and Kalecgos stared at him in surprise. Varik, what...?" Jaina asked.

"Where else would I be?" He asked, leaning against the door jam and staring at her. "Unless you'd like me to find somewhere else?"

"No, of course not." She bowed her shoulders in defeat...or equal exhaustion to the dragon with her, and Varik sighed, moving to her. He was all too well aware that he was being watched, being measured, and probably found lacking, but he was not in the mood to play social games he didn't quite understand. He expected a struggle, but she let him wrap his arms around her, relaxing as he rested his chin on her forehead. Fuck the dragon, he was still in this game.

"I'd help, if I could." He promised, and she snorted into his chest.

"When did this happen?" She asked, resting a hand on his new Theramore officer's tabard. "Not long... I hope?"

"No, not long. Yesterday. Jaina, I mean it. I'd help... if I could."

"Then try." The dragon stated. "You're a mage. You're a different mage. Maybe you will see something that we do not."

Varik nodded, moving over to Jaina's pool and staring within it. It wasn't his, but he'd worked with worse before... "What am I looking for?"

"An artifact...the Focusing Iris." Kalecgos stated, moving up to his side to watch the oiled waters.

The response was chaotic, disjointed, scrying had never been one of Varik's strong points. He was a necromancer. It was what he was good at, but no one here had any call for one of those. And it looked like all he was going to get was past replay, not at all unusual. Orcs in a swamp, yes, he'd already been there for that. The Dark Portal had opened onto what was then a swamp, the Black Morass.

"No, the Iris's movements are too fluid for that. Too fast." Kalec murmured, watching the scene. "What do you make of this?"

"Just replay from places I've been, things I've done. You're right, it has nothing to do with the item you're looking for."

"Past replay? Ah, right. Your training has been spotty, orcish warlocks would not have been able to help you through an arcane problem like that... maybe I can help later. Thank you for the attempt. Jaina... I'm going back out. Keep trying."

She nodded, distracted, tired, barely acknowledging the dragon as he departed. Varik watched her for a long moment, this, at least, was something he grasped. He'd been in this state before. Served warlords and warchiefs through it. Without Aegwynn, she had no aide de camp. Mind made up, he took a quick trip to the inn for food and a carafe of coffee.

"You shouldn't have." She chuckled when he preempted the positioning of the report she was studying with a plate and a cup.

"It's all I can do. That, and take over your Theramore office." Whatever this was that she was dealing with was beyond him, he understood that. But he could manage to run the city, in a pinch. It wasn't large, and he grasped its concepts with a fair amount of ease. "Until you find this artifact." "Thank you, Varik. Here... let me..." She scrawled on a piece of parchment, gave it a flurry of a signature and passed it to him. He glanced at it, waiting for it to dry before he folded it and tucked it in his jerkin. "This item is direly important, otherwise I wouldn't..."

"You're apologizing again."

"Right. Go. Run my office."


	29. Chapter 29

Run her office. It was amazingly easy, truly. He had a mind well suited to the detail oriented task ahead of him. He could manage to be both approachable, yet ominous if the need for it arose. The dockmaster knew him. The General knew him. He could puzzle his way quickly enough through the missives...his grasp of written Common was growing in leaps and bounds. But mainly, his job was to sign things that needed to be signed. He was elbow deep in records, the dockmaster sitting across from him, when the very weight of the air shifted around him. It stank of trouble, and he warily waved the man into silence, standing up and staring out of the window overlooking the docks. "Something's gone wrong." He stated, and the man stood as well.

"I'll go see about that, Lord Varrick. Immediately." Not a blink, not a hesitation, and the man was gone. Moments later, there was the sound of feet outside, but this was a heavier man, in armor. Varik could hear the difference, and feel the focus. Morris.

"What is it?" He asked without turning.

"I need you on the mustering ground. Geared up and ready to go. Close the office, we won't be doing business in the near future. The Horde has attacked Northwatch, and it looks as if we're next."

"Understood." He felt like there should be some doubt, some reservations, but that was conspicuously absent in his heart. Theramore was his home. He was consorted to her ruler. He'd trained with her men. Sailed on her ships. Eaten at her tables. And now, he was called upon to defend her. This was the righteousness he'd been lacking before. He could do this with a clear conscience and a firm heart.

He dropped everything, closing the office door behind him, and moving with a purpose back to Jaina's tower. She was there, her expression set and focused, the dragon silent in the corner. "Varik." She greeted when he appeared, "You've heard?"

"Heard enough to know when I've been mustered." He answered, disappearing into his bedroom to change into his new caster robes. He settled the saber belt around his hips, and clasped his battle spellbook's frogs to the empty rings on the belt. It should ride his other hip, if he was actually called to war. He missed his wolf, he missed the in depth knowledge of exactly what was going on that he had so often had, but he understood enough. Northwatch was between the Horde capital of Orgrimmar, and Theramore. That was all he needed to know. He shrugged into his tabard and reappeared in his doorway. "Is Northwatch besieged?" He doubted, the Horde had never been keen on sieges. It bogged them down, they would have sought to roll it over, and keep right on...to their real target. Which seemed to be Theramore. "Or were they rolled over?"

"Rolled over."

He only nodded in answer. They had a push coming against them. He understood. It was odd to be on the receiving side of it, but that couldn't be helped.

"Varik, be careful." She breathed, and he moved to stand immediately in front of her. "Especially since I have a favor to ask of you." She continued, resting the palms of her hands against her chest. He could guess what it was, and he stared at her. She couldn't truly ask that of him, could she? And if, when, she did, could he acquiese?

"Jaina...I am a necromancer. If you ask me to put that aside, you lame me on the battlefield..."

"Varik, it's a crime. A terrible thing. You are a fine enough mage, a strong enough combatant, to not need to rely upon that. I'm asking you to do without that. Aspire to be what I know you can be, and shed that monstrosity behind you. Using it just digs those claws deeper within you... Varik, as my acknowledged consort, I need you to do this."

"It's a terrible idea. I want to go on record as wholeheartedly advising you against this." It would neuter him, but if she asked...

"I have to, Varik. Or take you out of the fight completely."

And that was an even worse idea. Varik lived for conflict, and the very idea that someone, anyone, was coming for his home, his consort...without him standing between that made him honestly sick to contemplate. "I will do it." He growled, ignoring the stare of the dragon. "I have to make muster." He spun on his heels, stalking away from both of them. She wanted him to go to war...but to not do it as the Deathcaller. It was an uncomfortable idea. He wasn't some green recruit, he knew what was coming. It was insane to neuter himself like this. But she'd asked it of him, and he would do his best to comply.

He strode out onto the muster grounds, meeting Morris in the middle. "Well, you look the part." The man granted with a half smile, but his eyes were locked in a distance that Varik understood all too well. His body was here, but his thoughts were miles away. "I only wish I'd have had more time to bring you up to speed on the new Horde. It's more than just orcs now. They'll be fielding a more well rounded push than you're used to seeing."

"Too late." Varik said grimly, feeling the weight of impending violence settle on his shoulders. It was a mantle he was used to wearing, and it was comforting how easily it came back to him. "Is this it, or are we expecting support?" If this was it, then there was no chance in hell he'd be able to abide by Jaina's wishes. If this was it, then he'd die...but he'd do so painted with his enemies' blood, well and truly drowned in his darker side. He'd go down as the Deathcaller, and the Horde, new or not, would remember him with respect.

"Jaina has allies. I expect support... impressive support...if we have the time to get it here. Stormwind is inconveniently distant. The King will back us up, if he can."

"Blunt a push, go into siege, and wait for backup?"

"Yes. Suggestions?"

"Clear an apron around Theramore. That swamp..." He swallowed when he realized what he was sitting in the middle of. He'd seen a swamp in that scry alright, just not the Black Morass as he'd brushed it off as. He'd seen Dustwallow, outside of Theramore's walls. "Gives too much cover, especially for artillery."

"Agreed. Go burn trees and fill swamp."

It was hardly the most glorious job that Varik had ever been called upon to complete, but the very idea of it filled him with calm. It was a cautious, tactical step, and the soldiers with him fell to it without complaint. Not a lot of time to get it done, either...it took him an hour to work out the best way to shatter wet swamp trees into a slurry of wood pulp...to help fill the wallows around Theramore. But what he truly needed was a shaman...or five. Unfortunately, although the Alliance...and Jaina...had access to them, they all appeared to be draenei. That meant he was left filling crocolisk wallows with magic, shattered trees, and muscle power. But he'd always made do with what he had, and he managed again, leveling the area around the keep to a close to flat, somewhat dry field of approach. And still, the swamp was as calm as it ever was. If the Horde was moving as he remembered, he should sense their proximity by now... but he couldn't. Had they gotten good enough to hide an army from him? Or were they just not here yet? Was Northwatch a tougher nut to crack than he'd given it credit for? He didn't know...he'd never actually been there. He'd spent his whole time awake safely contained within Theramore's walls or on the sea. Now, he regretted it. He should have taken that time to get a better grasp of what was going on around him, but he'd been so soothed by his surroundings, by Jaina, that he had just floated along with it. He was a fool, but there was nothing new there. At least he'd been given enough time to recover before this happened, he was physically as good or better than he'd been before he'd undergone the ritual. And he was going to need that edge, soon. He nodded to the sergeant next to him, waiting for his orders.

"I think we've done as well as we can." He admitted. "Back to the keep."

"Yes, sir." The man agreed, waving to the detail. "Back home to help with the preparations there."

Varik nodded, going to one knee and resting a hand on the damp, disturbed ground below him, his lips twitching with the spell. The sergeant silenced immediately, stepping away and going still as he watched Varik cast. There was a wash of visible color, a dark flowing rainbow, fading as it coursed away from Varik's hand. He tilted his head, listening, feeling, sensing. And still...nothing. There was nothing within his range with a large enough mind to subdue and raise that wasn't contained within Theramore's walls already. No army. No orcs. Nothing. For... The return wave washed back to him, miles.

"Milord?" The sergeant asked after a long silence.

"Either they have a much better mage than I am with them, or there's no one within miles still."

The man was experienced enough to not look as relieved as some of the younger men did at that proclamation. "Good to know, sir." He muttered, gathering up tools and team and headed back towards Theramore's shelter. Varik fell into step as well, aware that there was still so much work to be done, and not a lot of time to get it done in. Sleep was a luxury he certainly wasn't going to be getting this week... but he was accustomed to that.

He climbed the wall, approaching Morris's side, and stared out over his own handiwork. It was still the best he felt he could do...

"Good job, Lord Varrick." The man stated, his tone daring Varik to dispute any of it. "We have news from Stormwind. Their fleet is on the way. Lady Proudmoore has gone to appeal to the Kirin Tor for aid."

Varik nodded, gripping the stone wall with his hands and gazing westwards. "I don't sense an army, General. I've tried. Twice."

"My scouts say that the Horde army has not left Northwatch yet."

"Then their tactics have changed." It wasn't an idea that Varik was comfortable with.

"This is not usual for them. They have to know we're aware of their attack on Northwatch, but they're giving us time to set our defenses. It makes no sense."

Well, Varik was glad he wasn't the only one confused by this. He sighed, shaking his head and turning to face the opposite direction as Morris, his back to the swamp, overseeing the interior work. "Has Jaina given you any instructions?" The question was weighty, and Varik turned his head to stare warily at the General.

"She has given me... prohibitions." He finally admitted, uncertain where the man was going with this. "Things I am not to do."

"And will you not do them?" Such enviable calm.

"I will try to avoid doing them, as she requests."

"I have to ask, Lord Varrick. What does she ask you to not do?"

Varik growled, again turning his back on Theramore and staring back out over the swamps. "I am a necromancer. I raise the dead. And I will do so again, in Theramore's defense, if I have to. I will do so again, to defend Jaina, even if she hates me for it later. I will do whatever is necessary, no matter how unpleasant Jaina may find it after the fact."

The man only nodded, grasping Varik's shoulder with a strong hand. "Good. Good. You are not just Jaina's consort, Varrick. You are one of my officers. You defend Theramore."

"I defend Theramore."


	30. Chapter 30

Varik was deeply involved in reinforcing the dock gate, when a teenaged boy stepped up to him. "Lord Varrick?" He asked, and Varik gave him a once over. He could see Theramore's vessels, taking on civilian refugees, down the docks, there were still plenty, and another two at anchor in deep water in case they were also needed. This would not be a repeat of too many of the sieges he'd been involved with...no population of targets, noncombatants, children. While Jaina had not returned yet, the evacuation continued smoothly.

"I'm Varrick." He confirmed, and then realized just how he'd pronounced it. He'd taken his name on his acceptance into the Clan, after a warrior he truly respected, and now it was becoming something else. Something more like himself. Almost orcish, but still completely human.

"General Morris wants to see you in the barracks, sir."

"On my way." He promised, standing stiffly. His hand, which had started out as aching this morning, now throbbed dischordantly. He was really getting too old for this shit, but he had no other real choice here. He made his way to the barracks, gingerly cupping his hand to his chest.

Morris had set up his command right in the middle of the main floor of the barracks, and he glowered the first moment he got a good look at Varik. "So, I was told the truth." He growled, pointing imperiously at the chair across from his table. "Varrick, if you are crippled by the time the Horde gets here, then you may as well just board a ship out of here, now. We have plenty of men to reinforce gates, but we don't have plenty of mages with your insight into how the orcs fight. You are going to the priests to get that seen to, and then you are going to get some sleep. That's an order."

"Of course." As difficult as he found it to believe, it truly looked as if the Horde was going to let them dig in, and if that was so, he needed medical attention and sleep.

He more than expected to be jolted out of sleep, and was stunned when he awoke on his own, to the dim light of morning pouring through the small window high above him. Morris had made it clear that he was to stay here in the barracks, close by, in case he was needed. He'd just get in Jaina's way, if she had even returned to Theramore.

His clothes, which he was ashamed to admit he had left in a muddy pile in the middle of the floor, had been hung up and brushed clean. His hand was stiff, but not sore or noticeably swollen when he reached out to smooth the fine, midnight blue fabric with his fingertips. He sighed, stepping into the wide under robe pants, tying them tightly at his waist, before following up with the over robe cinched tightly with the sword belt.

Theramore basked under a beautiful dawn, rising over the ocean, and Varik stared around. Still no assault. The evacuation ships were gone when he turned the corner and stared at the docks. He'd never seen them empty like this before...they were dead, deserted, only a few gulls perching gave them any life at all.

"They're well and gone." Morris stated from behind him, and he only nodded. Good. Good. "With their headway, they should be able to outrun the Horde fleet."

Varik nodded. It made the choice he might be forced to make all that much easier. Once things were dead, it was damned difficult to pick out exactly what he was raising...at least this meant he wouldn't be raising something that would truly make those around him utterly horrified. Everything became much of a sameness, and if he was pressed or in a hurry, he couldn't take the time to be certain what his targets actually were.

"What do the scouts report?"

"They're still at Northwatch, but their numbers have increased there. We expect them to move out today. We're still looking for their fleet, but we know it's out there."

Varik gazed out over the still docks, towards the low lying haze resting over the water. He hated this wait. He always had. He'd give anything to be moving, gathering, caught up in the welling excitement of a push. But that was not his role today. Or tomorrow. His job was to be here, on the ground, in Jaina's stead. Her consort. Her proxy. The person that her more mundane personnel saw standing with them while the fantastical and incomprehensible went on in her tower far above their heads. Once again, he led. Let Jaina do her job, plying her allies for aid, his job was right here.

And Jaina did her job. New arrivals started to pop up like flowers in a Nagrand field by that afternoon. A dizzying blur of races, tabards, if he'd had the time, he would love to watch them, measure them, but he didn't have time for more than a vague greeting and introduction. There were sails on the horizon, but once they were identified as originating from Stormwind, they ceased to be a thought of his. Against all sanity, against everything he grasped, the Horde had sat back and allowed Theramore's allies to come to her defense. And that fact nagged and itched in the back of Varik's thoughts, turning over like a soup on slow boil. He didn't feel safer, rather just the opposite. The more that came, the less secure he felt. The more of a target he became. Sheer foolishness. Overwhelming ability like this was a good thing, right?

No.

He sighed at the very idea. It would be better once it got started, it always was. Waiting was the killer. But at least he was seasoned, experienced... so many of the Theramore Guard were not. Hopefully Jaina's allies were veteran, because the force he knew and had trained with were not.

"Varrick!" He turned from his survey of Theramore from her battlements. It was about as good as it was going to get...

Morris moved up beside him, gazing out over the same angle. "They're on the move. We expect them early tomorrow."

"Good." Varik responded, and the man gave him a level stare. "The longer the wait, the worse it gets."

"The longer the wait, the more allies we get."

And that's the tragedy. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, and the world wavered in front of him. Although he tried to embrace the vision, it refused to form completely, just a shouting mass of shadows, blurs, and a bright purple light...

He came to in the infirmary. Jaina sat on a stool next to him, her forehead resting against his shoulder. A redheaded, bearded man had the opposite side vigil, while Morris waited silently towards his feet. "What the fuck." He marveled, and Jaina jumped at his voice.

"You collapsed on the battlements." The stranger commented pleasantly. "You opened up to a vision, and it overwhelmed you."

"Why have them if you turn away from them?" Varik rasped, and the man only nodded.

"True enough. He's going to be fine, Jaina."

She only nodded. "I know, Rhonin." She said, standing after giving Varik a fleeting touch across his brow. "And I know the rest of it, as well. When this is over, I'll see it done. And Varik..."

"Eh?" The world was coming back into focus again. It was still light, he hadn't been down that long at all. Less than an hour, he guessed. The Horde was still far away, the most he had done was embarrass the hell out of himself and inconvenience these three.

"If another one comes, do not accept it. We need you up and on your feet."

"Fine." It wasn't as if the visions had ever truly been useful before, but Gul'dan had been intrigued by them. He bit down on an apology to her, too proud to say it in front of the two men, choosing instead to roll his legs off of the cot and sit up. The man he'd never met, but now understood to be Rhonin, head magus of the Kirin Tor, watched him, openly measuring. And again, he'd failed... first impressions were everything. The man would never respect him now. And Morris... He sighed, cursing his life. He would just have to prove his mettle when the blood started flying, tomorrow.

"Sorry." He muttered after Jaina and Rhonin had left, and Morris only snorted in response, pulling him to his feet.

"Mage shit." The general stated gruffly, "But you've never hidden that you are a mage first, and a soldier second."

True enough. But it was time to get back to work, and put this behind him. There was an army coming.

Varik was moved out of sleep by a deep, subaudible throb he'd heard so many times before. It was predawn, Theramore was still dozing, but the air vibrated with the sound of an army on the move, with war drums going. He dressed again, this time taking extra care to make certain everything was in place, making certain he wore all of the outward signs that would mark him as a leader to rally with, and a target to kill. He wasn't afraid. At this point, he never was. He felt the usual solid acceptance, embroidered by thrill and the coiling rise of a hunger that wanted to be sated. The curse of the Blood Pact stirred in his veins, sluggish still, but prodding its way towards wakefulness. It had been too long, and this one was even better. He felt no reservations. No doubts to blunt the joy. What he was doing was finally right.

"I hear drums." He stated by means of a morning greeting to Morris, parked on the battlements. It was a damp, cool morning, the coastal fog lying low. Good weather to fight in.

"As do I. Wake the men. They're going to be deploying artillery soon enough."

Varik nodded, striding confidently back down the steps and grasping the bell pull at the head of the barracks. He gave it one strong yank, listening to the harsh metallic peal it gave. Another few yanks for good measure, setting up an insistent rythym in time with the throb of drums. "Muster on me!" He barked, feeling himself drop right back into a role he was all too comfortable with. He was unbowed, strong, unwavering. "I've got this, Lord Varrick." Morris stated from behind him. "Take to the battlements, watch their deployment. You're long range for this first part."

Good enough. He'd spent yesterday working out the ranges for spells he'd never truly bothered to master before. But if Jaina wanted a mage for this, he'd at least start off as one. He had few doubts about what would happen if he felt truly pressed, but that was beyond his control. And if came down to pleasing Jaina or remaining alive, well...he was quite fond of alive, more than he was fond of Jaina. He'd taken the time to study her, and she didn't even have the added push of carrying his child. He was relieved now that she wasn't pregnant, and that lack made his thoughts easier to manage. The world was dark, bloody, and ugly...no matter what Jaina seemed to see it as. He understood that inherently, because his very soul was bound up in dark, bloody, and ugly. He'd fight. Magic, sword, tooth, nail, and when that failed, he'd throw in with everything he possessed.

The lead elements broke from the swamp, swirling the fog around them, and Varik studied them. Elite orcish troops, each mounted on a black wolf. Trolls, mounted on vibrantly colored raptors. Elves, on fussy, squawky birds. Those he'd seen, those he comprehended. He'd never seen the large bovines mounted on bald clefthooves, but the joy, the toy, the insult, the gift and the offering moved along with them. Undead. Mounted upon...undead. Their patterns lit up before him, an invitation to tear apart. They had been made. And he could unmake that just as easily as he could make that. He could stick the fingers of his will into those strands and shatter them, knot them, unravel them like a badly knitted sweater.

"They bring me undead." He whispered conspiratorially when the General stepped up beside him. "Well within range."

Morris contemplated that, his head half tilted. "Lady Proudmoore forbade you from raising the undead." He stated calmly, "But said nothing about laying the raised to rest?"

"Absolutely nothing at all."

"Then, Lord Varrick, I believe we have indeed found a use for your truest gift."

Varik nodded, watching the army come. The artillery was being set up behind them, but the surge kept coming. They weren't going to try to soften Theramore's defenses, they hoped to stagger them by brute force. Good. Good...and a moment later, he understood why. He heard the hushed flap of what sounded like sails, caught a glimpse of a quickly moving shadow, before the great blue dragon attacked from the air. Kalecgos.

He reached out, hand open in supplication, before he clenched his fingers and twisted. I am your master. Walk no more. He didn't have to work at it, he didn't need to plot out his farthest ranges. He just knew.

It wasn't the most graceful use of his talents, it was more like cutting through stubble than crafting... clearing the unworthy from the field. He couldn't come close to destroying them all like this, all he was doing was culling the weak. But there was plenty of that, and the very fact that they crumpled under his will trumpeted his presence, and his expertise. I am here. Fear me!

The first wave hit the gate closest to him, a seething, boiling pile of thunder, rage and orcish grunts. He ignored them completely, his eyes drawn to their commander, a heavily built orcish male mounted on an immense war wolf.

"Move." It wasn't a vision. It wasn't a voice, exactly, because he didn't hear it audibly, but it formed in his mind clearly, recognizable as Kalecgo's voice.

He nodded, dropping his stare from the commander and bolted along the battlements, headed westwards, blinking ahead of the dragon's next strafe. It was odd to be this close to Kalecgos... in draconic form, with the knowledge that the dragon was not chained. Varik had avoided the red dragonflight when the Horde had enslaved them, unwilling to play any part of what was both deeply wrong and insanely stupid. He'd argued the latter loudly, but held the former close and silent in his heart.

He wasn't certain how long he plied the battlements, dodging attacks that were increasingly targeted at him, and others that simply came too close, from both sides. Combat always flowed at its own speed, it sped up, it bogged down. All he had to do was keep alive, keep a certain level of comprehension of his surroundings, an eye on his commander, and rain down death upon his enemies. Life didn't change, just the colors it was painted in, the perspective it was viewed from. He'd gone from the outside, here, one of the Horde, giving into rage and glory from the back of his war wolf to a his newest incarnation... A blue and silver clad mage standing boldly on Theramore's battlements, wearing the regalia of one of her officers. And it was still a glorious day, he loved every minute of it. It became...not a game...but a challenge, timing his attacks to support Kalecgos, to keep the pressure off of the gate, while dragging down as many personal kills as possible. Every minute that the gates stood, the better their position was.

"Varik, where are you?"

"Here!" Why did Kalecgos look for him?

"Stand in the open. Where I can reach you without a problem."

Stand in the open? Was Kalecgos insane? The longer this went on, the more of a target he was becoming. It was how it was supposed to be, but he hadn't lived this long without understanding good officers only gained experience if they survived.

Oh, well. He stood, silhouetted against the sky. He sensed the dragon wheel in the sky, dropping low into a strafe headed right for him. His first staggered thought was that it was over, he was dead. Then, he realized, at least partially, what the dragon meant to do. He tucked his arms up into his chest, exhaled deeply, and braced. He was gracefully snatched up, cupped to warm belly skin, and whisked off of the battlements. "Ugggggghhhhh!" He howled, thankfully the rush of air and the snap of wings swallowed most of it.

"Forsaken battery this way, dug in. Out of your footprint, they pulled back when they realized Theramore was fielding a fine necromancer. And...you cannot disturb Jaina by messing with the already dead."

"Forsaken?" It was a term he was not familiar with, but he got the gist of the request.

"The Horde undead call themselves Forsaken."

Oh. Good to know. Considering it gave him something else to ponder other than the realization that the marsh flowed by him, far beneath the dragon holding him. At least a ship had water close by...he could swim fairly well...but heights had always bothered him.

"When this is over, you should have Jaina teach you slow fall... annnnnd...down you go."

He was dropped only a foot above the ground, the dragon barely making a hitch in his wing beats to show a pause. This close, the heady call of undead...not his undead... was undeniable. Here, far away from prying eyes, he could do what he did best, be what he truly was.

"Die." He breathed. At first, nothing happened, but it always took longer to convince the smaller things to give up life. People were easy. Plants put up a fight. His offhand gripped his spellbook, the dark jewels set into the engraved khorium cover digging into his flesh. He was rusty, damn it. "Die." He muttered mutinously, holding the book out by its spine. It opened to the correct page, and he growled. He needed a damned spellbook to kill some bloody plants? Since when?

Apparently since today. Bad time to find that out, but that was how it was going to be. Ah, well, there were other fun things around... undead crocolisks seemed like a simply amazing ingredient for mayhem. Those died much easier than the damned plants, and slid along easily towards the concentration of undeath he sensed close by.

"What have we got here?" The voice from behind him was deep, guttural, and spoke Orcish. "Theramore's...necromancer." It was obvious that the speaker wasn't expecting Varik to understand, nor he did care. Varik tilted his head slightly, bringing him into his field of vision, while still focusing on the camp in front of him. Let the crocolisks do their work, he now had a larger problem. But that was fine, this was hardly the first orc warrior he'd been faced with, and knowing his life, would hardly be the last. But he had practice at this...experience.

He snapped an open hand in the orc's direction, his target...the orc's war wolf. That would help even this out very quickly...by denying his enemy that, and bringing it to him, instead. His own war wolf had been small, a runt, a male, and what was supposed to have been an insult. Varik missed him, but he had been downed in the last run for the Portal, getting Varik there, but no farther.

"Yes." He grated, dropping his voice down to the artificially deepened tones that allowed him to pronounce Orcish correctly. "I am indeed Theramore's necromancer."

The wolf convulsed, spraddling her paws far apart as she fought to stay standing. Blood tinged foam appeared at her lips, and a faint whine whispered from her. She fought a lifetime's worth in a single second, but it was not equal to the assault that Varik had thrown at her. The warrior bellowed in rage, but it was already too late. By the time he realized what Varik was after, and what he was doing, the wolf was crumpling beneath him.

"Coward!" He spat, rolling off of her. "Filthy, spineless coward!"

"Better orcs than you have called me that." Varik chuckled. So much noise, yelling, was bound to bring these 'forsaken' soon. The crocolisks were only supposed to have flushed them out, but this would work equally as well. But things were about to get interesting...

The warrior charged, but Varik had been on the receiving end of that before. If he got a hit in, Varik was done. He simply could not stand toe to toe against this, and he had no intention of trying. He blinked out of the way, his fingertips trailing arcane eddies as he stepped into another cast, one eye on the wolf and the other eye on the growth of still vibrant trees between him and the dug in undead. Come on, come on...

A paw twitched, an ear.

His circle erupted around him, all attempts to mask his presence gone. He was not going to survive this by playing it safe... "You speak Orcish quite well." The warrior growled, and Varik frowned. There was no reason to talk, unless he was killing time or fishing for information. Which was it? "Interesting accent."

Funny, Varik didn't think he spoke Orcish with an accent, Common, yes. "I killed your wolf." He taunted back. That almost did it, rage flared in those eyes again, only to be reined in.

"We've been watching you."

"I know." Now that it was mentioned, this one did indeed have an odd accent. And now, the grass decided to die back... and his actual targets were moving away. Which was part of what the warrior was angling for. He'd been holding Varik's attention, while the undead retreated...and using it to try to get answers as well. That was fine. If the undead were moving, they weren't firing. And he'd get a fancy new undead wolf out of this...at least until he had to return to Theramore. "You've been trying to kill me."

"You make an obvious target." The warrior stared at him through narrowed, yet thoughtful eyes. "Do you have a name other than 'Theramore's resident necromancer'?"

"Varik." The wolf's paws scrambled weakly, she was definitely still fighting. It was almost sad that she wouldn't give up. It was almost sad that she was being sacrificed to buy a clutch of undead some time to run. She had been worth more, easily.

The warrior grimaced at that, suddenly spinning to decapitate the corpse, releasing the wolf once and for all. Varik wasn't surprised, it was exactly what he would have done in the same situation. "Varik. You give me an Orcish name. In Orcish. From...somewhere I don't quite recognize."

Varik sounded exactly like Ner'zhul, his master, and Gul'dan, his teacher, had. He sounded like a Shadowmoon mystic, well educated, his words strongly and precisely enunciated. When a misplaced syllable could mean death, or worse, the spoken word was of vast importance. "My name is Varik Shadowmoon. I learned Orcish in Shadowmoon Valley, from my master and my teacher."

And...no glimmer of recognition. Damn them all. He'd given them everything, and this was how they repaid him? Forgotten about? "You're human."

"So I am." The undead were almost out of range, moving much more slowly now. They thought they were safe, far enough away. They weren't. He knelt, resting the palm of his hand against the earth, feeling the wisps of death around him. The end of the group of Forsaken was silent, it was obvious that the warrior didn't even sense that the group he'd given up so much for had just ceased to be. "And once, I was a member of the Horde. But now...I have a keep to defend."

Even though it was home, Theramore was not a place he could manage to teleport into. Too many utterly gifted mages had locked it closed, and he was left calling Kalecgos for another ride... but it was worth seeing the expression on the warrior's face when he was snatched up into the sky.

The battle was still in full force when Kalecgos dropped him off from a tight swoop and banked away. "Did you get them?" Morris demanded the moment that Varik stopped rolling, landing almost perfectly at the General's feet.

"Get...?"

"Kalecgos said he'd taken you to deal with a group of Forsaken working on artillery...did you get them?"

Ah. So the dragon hadn't just whisked him away to do dirty work, alone and unnoticed. Good to know. "Yes. I got them." He grinned, standing and brushing dust off. "They're pushing hard." He noted warily, getting his first good long look at the battlefield. This gate was going to come down...

"Yes. Get on the ground and be there when they break through. And Varrick...I don't care what Jaina told you. Give them hell."

It sounded like a fine idea. It was a fine idea. He strode down, taking his place on the open way between the embattled gate...and Theramore proper.

"For Theramore!" Morris roared, standing slightly in front of him. Varik echoed it, and the cry was taken up by Theramore's defenders mustering to their officers.

It was like every great battle that Varik had ever been a part of it. Hopefully someone else saw it as well, able to tell the story, because it all blurred together into a chaos he would never truly remember. It was cast, cast, cast, and cut his way out with the saber when it all got too close for him to motion freely. He was covered in blood, his heart sang, he was unyielding... and then he was downed, falling between the rank of men behind him. He was grabbed so quickly that he barely understood he had fallen, and he tried to catch his breath, but it wouldn't come. "Shit..." He wondered, but those around him seemed to grasp it so much easier than he did.

"We'll get you right to the infirmary, sir." One of the soldiers holding him upright promised, staggering under Varik's weight. "Stay with us."

Stay? He could feel the death ritual kick in, and he grimaced. Not again. Not again. No. It was still powered, still in effect, and still working just fine... Jaina still had the workings for it laid out, complete and mostly untampered with...in her Tower.

He was handled with great ease, carried when his legs failed him completely. He'd been here before, except this moved so much more slowly than the last time he'd died...

"It's Lord Varrick, he's down and he's going fast..."

His eyes were still open, but not all of the way...they weighed too much for that. It was a struggle to breathe, but he fought to. He'd only been awake for a season. The spell had never been designed to repeat. He was going to die...

They'd won. It was over. Jaina breathed a deep sigh of relief, watching the Horde push break and never come together again, instead, fading into a retreat. She nodded wearily, grasping the window jam, when she realized that the room behind her was dimly lit. It should have been completely dark...all that was in there was what she'd brought back from Outlands with Varik...Varik. His death spell had powered again.

She bolted down the stairs, headed out onto the streets. Where would he be? Kalecgos was easy to keep track of, he'd been in the air most of the time, but Varik would have blended in to the masses of Theramore defenders. "General Morris!" She called, and the man turned to face her. He was exhausted, bloodied, but alive. So many others weren't.

"He's in the courtyard of the infirmary." He said, as if she'd asked it. "He fought like hell." There was almost a recrimination there, and she stared back.

"I had no doubts that he would." She stated back, raising a brow.

"And he did as you asked."

Now, that one she had some doubts about. She understood all too well what was going on with Varik, what he'd done to himself...but Morris was correct, she'd felt no overt necromancy at work within Theramore. Covert, definitely, there was nothing natural in how the Forsaken had dropped, but she had no complaints. "I want to see him. I know he's been hurt..." Whatever had the man so defensive, she had no idea, but she wasn't in the mood for it. She just wanted to be certain that Varik was being seen to, that he was going to be fine. There was still so much she needed to tend to, but she needed to see him.

"He's feeling no pain." The man finally relaxed slightly, "But for some odd reason, he won't go to sleep. Maybe you can get him there."

Jaina nodded, stepping through into the courtyard when he motioned her to go. Varik was indeed in the courtyard, as hard as that was to accept, resting on a pile of bed rolls under an awning. But he wasn't the only one, it was obvious that these were the overflow from the infirmary, wounded left out in the open. She felt sadness, anger...she was supposed to take better care of her people than this.

"Jaina." He murmured when she eclipsed the horizon over his face. His features were lax, utterly relaxed. His eyes were dazed, his lips half parted, but he managed a faint smile.

"Varik." She mourned, grasping one of the hands folded over his belly. He was warmer than she was expecting, and she could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. It was slowed, but strong and steady... he was drugged to his gills. "You need to sleep."

"I can't." He muttered, thickly. "Can't. Not allowed to."

"That's all he repeats." Morris sighed. "Can't sleep. Not allowed to. They won't give him anything else, he's had so much already."

She rested her hand on his forehead, puzzled. "He's had a ritual performed on him that puts him into a sleep when he dies... it's been recently used. It may be keeping him awake because it's been damaged and drained. A safety measure...?" She wasn't certain, she hadn't designed it, she hadn't cast it. And honestly, since he'd awoken, she'd paid it very little attention. It had been an oddity to learn later. Only Varik would understand it well enough to say yes or no to that theory, and he was drugged nearly insensate. "Can't we at least put him inside?"

"No!" Varik barked, trying to twist away from her. "Outside. I have to stay...outside. He says...he says...so. Jaina..."

"Shhhhh... just calm down." Fine. So he wanted to stay outside. She clenched her jaw, trying to force her mind to work this through. Too many were dead, too much needed to be done... but Varik needed her. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out where to even get started.

"What's wrong?"

And, of course, someone would interfere. She gave Kalecgos an exasperated glance. "I'm trying to figure out what is wrong. Is this the ritual that kept him asleep? He's got to sleep, Kalec. Outside, inside, I don't care, but he's got to let go." If she stopped, though, she was the one who would sleep, right here beside him.

Kalec only nodded, tilting his head as he pulled up the strands of a ritual she'd seen before, when she had stabilized it to wake Varik up. "No. This does not keep him awake, Jaina. He's not close enough to death right now to even trigger it. He was, but it's gone quiescent again. He may just be strung out and needs to collapse, maybe if we stopped giving him something else to focus on, he'd fall asleep on his own?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, running her fingers down Varik's side braid. Kalec was probably right, all Varik needed was some peace and quiet and he'd let the drugs finally take him. A quick kiss to his lips, and she stood, pushing her own exhaustion away. "Take care of him." She stated to Morris, who only nodded blandly in answer.

Varik had rarely felt this close to insanity before, it was almost as bad as Shattrath. Almost as bad as when he'd been in Karabor, throwing away his humanity to drink a demon's blood. Everything terrible he'd ever done was in that darkness, hounding him, waiting for him.

"You can't sleep."

Gul'dan? It couldn't be. Gul'dan was dead.

"And you, my brother, are closer to death than you've ever been. I've been trying to warn you."

That made no sense. Varik wasn't closer to death than he'd ever been. He had been tended by priests, the bleeding had stopped. He was going to pull through. And he wasn't a shaman, or an orc. He had no ancestor spirits. But the voice certainly sounded like Gul'dan, when Gul'dan had been himself. Never a good soul, but Varik definitely recalled him before the true weight of insanity had consumed him.

"About what?" He wasn't certain if he spoke Common, Orcish, or anything at all.

"You need to come home."

No. He was home. This was a trick, a trap.

"NOW."

Varik shuddered, fighting a whimper. Gul'dan was dead, dead, dead... A sudden flash in the sky caught his gaze, and he focused on it with a cold wash of clarity. What the hell was that?

"That, Varik Shadowmoon, is the death of Theramore. Come home, so that you will still stand to wreak your vengeance against Hellscream's heir for what he is about to do to your home. To be able to wreak your vengeance against those who deify Doomhammer, but have obliterated your name from the Clans because they would not tolerate a human warlord's memory to be remembered."

Jaina.

"Is an archmage, Varik!"

She could make it out of here, she was better at this than he was. But everyone he knew would die here... so many...

"Cannot be saved. But they can be avenged!"

Gul'dan had hated both Doomhammer and Hellscream... was this a trick? "You think too much, Varik!"

Trick or not, that sight panicked him deeply. He needed to leave, but he was drugged into stupidity. It was like being trapped, wide awake, in a dying carcass. He had to go. Home.

He felt the tentative ripple of the teleport, but it failed miserably, swirling dust around him.

"Aaaagggggh." Gul'dan snarled, a sound he was well accustomed to. "Fine, you drugged idiot... The altar. Go to the fucking altar!"

The Altar. Of Damnation. Yes, he knew there. He was tied there. He could go there. He had to go there. Now. The teleport locked, powered, and he caught a good glimpse of a black sky marked with veils of green before he passed out.


	31. Chapter 31

Once, there had been a Theramore. Jaina had been there for every moment of it, from its first stone, its birth, to this, its death. It was what she had built, and it had been shattered around her. Years to grow, destroyed in an instant. Her defenders, dead. Rhonin, dead. All of her allies, those that had answered her desperate request, dead.

The past two days had been easier than this one was. Rage had been a fuel, but it was spent now. Nothing would ever be the same again, but she simply couldn't keep it up. Sanity was filtering back, and it was not an entirely welcome return, it was a cold light to see through. Just when she understood Varik, he had been snatched away from her. He had been correct, but she'd been too complacent to accept his warnings... And now, he was gone. Every person in Theramore was dead. She felt it. She knew it. And worse, she had finally faced it.

"Kalec."

"Yes?" That one had, once he was through talking her out of an insanity driven explosion of wrath, had been coldly silent.

"Find Varik." He would be like all the others, dead and still, just as he'd been left. At least his remains should still be identifiable, unlike those who had perished close to her Tower...like Rhonin. "I want him brought to Dalaran. I'll deal with him from there." Varik had, at the end, stood as an officer of Theramore, as her consort. He'd done a damn fine job of it. He deserved a decent burial, and she'd see it done.

"Of course." He stated firmly. "You go, and I will bring him to you."

Jaina only nodded in response, there, and then gone...returned to Dalaran and the Kirin Tor. Kalec sighed gustily when she was too far away to see or hear him, raking fingers through his sapphire hair. What a mess. What an absolute mess. But he knew where Varik had been immediately prior to the bombing, and there was little chance that the man had been moved.

Kalecgos walked through the corpses, the dead, his mind fixed on his task. Find Jaina's consort and recover his remains. A sad duty, but if it would help, he was going to do it.

The courtyard was just as it had been left, except...everyone was dead. The wounded had died where they had been laid out at. The infirmary was silent, the door hanging open and the room beyond it was still.

"What the hell?" He paused, taking a quick glance around. There were the bedrolls that Varik had been left on, but they were bare. He hadn't fallen, the stone yard was clear around where he had been. Kalec rested a hand on the uppermost blanket, still stained with Varik's blood. There were so many disturbances in the flow of magic here, now, that he couldn't even begin to try to trace what had happened. Slowly, he folded the blanket, blood stains in, and tucked it under his elbow. He searched the infirmary building, just to be certain, his gaze checking everywhere that might hide a body. Jaina's consort had been a physically remarkable specimen, noteworthy, and was not here. This had just gotten more difficult, yet more optimistic, than he'd been expecting.

He left Theramore, flying southwards along the beach until he judged himself far enough away from the fallout of the mana bomb, and tried to trace Varik again. Still, too much to cut through, shouting, buffeting, chaotic magical noise. It was as he was expecting, and he only grimaced. No, he needed a shaman for this. Varik's magical signature had been burned away from Theramore, becoming just a handful of particles in a sandstorm of others, but that would not affect a spirit. Varik had been a warlord of the Horde, tied to some of the most powerful ex shamans that history made note of. Surely he'd attracted attention. Surely something watched him.

But which shaman? The draenei loathed Varik Shadowmoon with a passion. The Horde...well, no. Obviously not. The Earthen Ring...no. He nodded to himself, teleporting to the center of his Flight, the Coldarra on Northrend. From there, the grounds of the Argent Tournament were an easy enough flight.

He landed south of the Tournament, choosing to walk the short distance, immune to the freezing wind that whipped down the glacier at him. He was surrounded by ice, but saw only the beauty of it, clear of the hold of the Lich King. The Tournament had been a grand thing, a headquarters, a training ground, and an undeniable presence in a battle recently victorious. It still stood, a little less grand, but still unyielding, involved in mop up. Less glory filled, but still essential. It maintained the same neutrality it had during the push to capture Icecrown, and still supported its own cadre of officers, many who had ignored the orders of Garrosh Hellscream to return to the Horde. The Argent Crusade had one of the best neutral shamans in existence, and she'd talk to Kalecgos.

"My name is Kalecgos." He told the first guard he came to. Once, this had been almost an attraction, but now, it faded back into remote outpost status. Glorious, bold, and understaffed. The guards were more watchful than they had been, uncertain of strangers. "I'm looking for Dame Raheli."

The woman relaxed slightly at a name she recognized. "Raheli should be near the Main Hall at this time. With her calf."

He nodded, heading towards the main structure, dark against the snow field. Banners still flapped in the breeze, but the crowds were gone. The crowds, yes, but so many troops remained, and Kalecgos studied them. Such a concentration of what had once been Horde champions here, standing distant from Orgrimmar, from Garrosh, in direct defiance of the orders that Kalecgos knew that they'd received.

"Raheli." He told the guard at the door, and the troll merely opened one half of the massive double doors to give him access to the Main Hall of the Argent Crusade. It was warm, cozy, filled with chatter, but he'd already seen who he was here for. She sat on a vast chair, probably designed for a male draenei, pointedly ignoring her calf while she played with him. The little one would plunge at her, and be bounced away by her knees just before her reached her lap. He threw up an exuberant giggle, and tried again, with the same response. Kalec allowed himself a slight smile, watching the timeless game. It stopped the moment her eyes fell on him, and her expression fell. "Excuse me." She told the dwarf she'd been talking to, and easily scammed the calf by letting him reach her lap...and her grasp. The calf whined when she used that advantage to pick him up and heft him onto her hip as she stood, striding towards Kalecgos. "This way."

She climbed the stairs ahead of him, using the grasp only a mother had when the calf struggled in her hold. "He's going to be big." Kalec noted, and she growled in reply. She was not a large cow, small and thin for a tauren...that calf, on the other hand, promised great size and heft.

"I noticed." She sighed, putting him back down on his own hooves and shooing him ahead of her, into her apartment. It was piled with furs, rugs, pillows, the walls painted leather brown. "You sleep." She informed the calf, herding him into a small antechamber that was obviously his room. He fussed and wailed for a long moment, clinging piteously to her kilt, before letting go and clutching a wad of fur with a sniffle, popping his thumb in his mouth, and curling up.

She watched him until he was well and truly asleep before she finally turned to Kalec. "The spirits are...distraught." She said, dropping the curtain closed and moving into the larger room. "You have come to tell me why?"

"The Horde attacked Theramore."

She sighed, her ears drooping and her eyes darkening.

"Theramore responded by requesting aid from her allies."

Raheli almost nodded, but stopped, her eyes flicking to the side, one ear cocked as she listened to a discussion only she could hear. "I cannot think of anyone who would deny Lady Proudmoore of support." She stated warily, "If she would have asked us, we would have stood with Theramore."

But thankfully, the garrison at the Tournament had been too remote to call up to Theramore's defense. The Highlord, his champions, held safe away. "Exactly. And so many did stand with Theramore...and they perished when Hellscream used a mana bomb against it."

Her expression stilled. Raheli was an old Horde champion. She'd gone to Outlands when Thrall had sent forces. She'd been up one side of it and down the other, and she'd seen the ruin that device had spread when used there. "Rhonin was killed. All of Theramore's defenders. And the elite units that Theramore's allies sent to her aid. It was an...atrocity, Raheli."

"Garrosh." She spat bitterly, and he could only nod. "So. The man twists the Horde, kills my Chieftain dishonorably...and now...this? I should have killed him the first time I saw him."

Kalec only regarded her levelly. She'd done more than most, arguing loudly against Garrosh from the beginning, which was probably why she was out here, safely distant, raising her only calf far from Garrosh's reach. "Be that as it may, I'm here to ask you to help Jaina."

Gray eyes locked his face, dark in the bright white splash across her broad face. "I am a dame of the Argent Crusade." She stated, "I answer the will of the Highlord."

"I'm not asking you to return south." In fact, he desperately wanted to avoid that at all costs. She needed to stay right where she was. "I'm asking for a favor you can do here, now...for Jaina."

"If I can."

He pulled out the blanket, resting it across his knees. "Jaina had taken a consort prior to the destruction of Theramore." He began. "He stood at the assault, but his remains are missing. I cannot trace him through the after effects of the mana bombing."

"If he was close to the blast, there would be nothing."

"He was not that close. Close enough to die, far enough to remain intact. He simply was not where we left him. This was what he was resting on...it has his blood still fairly fresh upon it." He handed her the blanket, watching as she smoothed it out on the floor.

Her ears pinned back flat against her skull immediately , vanishing into the mane of dark gray cascading down her shoulders. "Varik of the Shadowmoon."

"Yes. Is he dead?"

"No. He was warned." A black edged ear emerged as she listened. "No, Kalecgos, he is not dead. One of his Clan spirits made it through to him, warned him. He teleported out of it."

"He was agitated before the bombing...kept saying he wasn't allowed to sleep. Wasn't allowed to go inside. He was heavily drugged, but kept repeating that."

"Makes sense. If he would have fallen asleep, then he would have died without ever having realized anything was wrong. He is watched over by powerful, dark spirits. They are very loud."

"To you?"

"Yes. Old, shadowy spirits. Orcish. They try to hide their identity from me..."

"Let them. I have a good idea of what they would be, Raheli, but I need to find Varik for Jaina. He was not well when he teleported, and the fact he teleported while drugged that heavily... Not good. He has enemies. He has friends that may as well be enemies."

"They agree that he is in Outlands."

Which was not a place that Kalecgos really should go. Nor should Jaina. He frowned, pondering. Two days had already passed, and Varik had not turned up again under his own power.

"I can go."

"Raheli, no... you have a calf." And no mate in sight. The identity of the bull who had sired her calf was a mystery, and she wasn't even giving hints.

"Raken is weaned. It's not uncommon at this point in his life to leave him with another, and he's gotten very clingy. Perhaps it would be good for him to learn another household... I can't return to Kalimdor. I can't go to the Eastern Kingdoms. But damnit, Kalecgos, I can do this. I can do something here, now. For Lady Proudmoore. This man's spirits are speaking to me. I know Outlands well. I have allies there."

A champion without a war. Kalecgos nodded slowly. "Fine, Raheli. Thank you."


	32. Chapter 32

Dame Raheli Dawnstrider, Grand Champion of the Argent Crusade, one time champion of the Horde, rested a hand on the shoulder of her only born offspring. Raken shifted under her touch, but did not awaken.

"So, you've decided it is time to wean him for good?"

Decided? No, it had been decided for her...but she bowed to the inescapable. She had spoiled Raken, so amazed by his very existence that the calf could do no wrong. She'd held him close, denying the gift of him to her people. Selfish, indeed.

"Things have happened." She admitted, beginning the change from her clothes into her armor. Isbet blinked warily, pausing in her catalogue of Raken's possessions prior to taking him in to expose him to a larger, more boisterous and true to the Shu'halo family.

"Raheli. You are not to return to Kalimdor!"

No, Tirion had never forbidden it. But he'd been quite fine with making it easy for Raheli to avoid the increasingly pointed requests, then demands, to return to the Horde's service. She served the Crusade now, and wanted no part of Garrosh's insanity. She served a better commander in the Highlord Tirion Fordring. "I do not go to Kalimdor." Raheli stated, giving the slight hop to settle her enamelled mail kilt firmly upon her hips. "I go to Outland."

"Outland?"

The conflict there had waned, fallen behind them. All that was left were small garrisons, even more remote than the Tournament Grounds, watching a shattered land that hadn't given any real trouble in years. Raheli had been young when she'd ridden through the Dark Portal in answer to Thrall's call. Now, she was young no longer, and Thrall had given up the mantle of Warchief...to the monster of his own choosing.

"Indeed." She'd almost forgotten how her own armor held her close. "There is dark news from Kalimdor, and I will help in whatever way I can. According to the Blue Dragonflight, the Horde has committed an abominable act against Theramore, and Lady Proudmoore. The spirits say Kalecgos tells the truth, which means my presence is required..."

"At the Highlord's office." The voice came from the doorway into the corridor. "Tirion has returned to us, and he asks for you specifically."

Damn. Damn. And triple damn. "On my way."

"Raheli." The Highlord stood at the windows behind his desk, a view that looked unrelentingly north, over the cliff and beyond. "Apparently your sources of intel are equal or better to mine... You're dressed to go. Can I ask where?"

"Dalaran, Shattrath, and points deeper in Outland. I look for Jaina's consort... he apparently fled Theramore just before it was bombed. Kalecgos tells me he was injured and drugged, but still managed to teleport out."

"Jaina's consort...yes, I'd heard that rumor. And now, it's confirmed?"

"Yes." By Kalecgos, and a myriad of shifting spirits more than willing to bend her ear.

"I don't want you in Kalimdor, but Outland... to help Jaina. Yes, go with my blessings, Raheli. I'll let the quartermaster know."

"Thank you, Highlord."

He sighed, glancing over his shoulder at her. He was hardly a young man, his hair was as pale as her moon bright body coat, but he remained unbowed and strong in spite of his age. "No, Raheli. Thank you. Now go."

She nodded, spinning to stride to the quartermaster's office. They were already packing, giving her barely a nod as they pushed the saddlebags across to her. "Your charger is waiting at the stables, Dame."

Yes, time was of the essence. She was already two days behind Jaina's consort. It would take her more time to reach Shadowmoon, even as quickly as she'd be moving.

Any day that started off by hanging upside down by his ankles was guaranteed to be a bad one. Varik understood that implicitly. Worse, he was completely blinded, not because he'd lost his sight, not because he was blindfolded, but because his damned robes were dragging the ground under his head. It was suffocating, nauseating, and excruciating, but he had a way out of this one...

Bonds that were tight on a large male human were not tight on the fragile arms and legs of a draenei female, and he slid from them easily enough, back in male human form before he hit the ground. He landed badly, his head spinning, but managed to right himself and stagger to his feet. It really wasn't a question of who would have done it, because Shadowmoon Valley was full of those who would happily string him up, but which had actually gotten a hold of him this time.

The chorus of outraged avian squawks answered that question, and Varik was casting before he even got his bearings. Theramore was obliterated, the men he had trained with, eaten with, joked with, and led...destroyed. He could feel Jaina's rage and pain, like the throb of a jolted tooth, deep in his soul, and it simply reinforced his tide of fury. Things were going to die. Things were going to pay...starting with this particular flock of moth eaten Arrakoa. How dare they touch him?

He had no reason to try to hold the corruption at bay, and no real desire to. He had failed to protect Theramore, failed in his attempt to be a righteous and upstanding consort to its Lady. He was far from there now, in the shadow of the Hand of Gul'dan. He was Varik Shadowmoon...the Deathcaller.

"Don't go too crazy."

What? Gul'dan, of all people, telling him to maintain control? He swept the Arrakoa around him into feathered death, they had always been one of his favored targets, ones he'd never felt badly for unleashing his rage upon. Annoying, obnoxious, foul...

"Someone is coming to get you."

Varik squinted through the flurry of falling feathers, considering the statement. Jaina?

"No. A shaman, I can hear her, but I truly do not see her. When the dragon could not trace your whereabouts, he consulted her."

A shaman that Kalecgos would have chosen...coming here? And Gul'dan, behaving? He wasn't certain which was more worrisome, honestly.

"Hellscream's heir will not destroy the entirety of my Clan, Varik. You are it, you are our last. Doomhammer, Hellscream, the Horde, wish to grind us into the past, into memories. And with you, they tried to steal even that. But as long as you live, we persist... and now Hellscream's heir has attacked you."

It ended almost on a purr, and Varik sighed. Yes, yes he had. That made it personal, and that made it easy. Gul'dan understood exactly how to manipulate him, always had. "Why would they send a shaman to come get me?" He asked aloud, after all, he could just teleport back to Theramore...

It took the rest of the day to kill the devastating headache that the attempt hit him with, resting in the shade of an Arrakoa shelter. Obviously he could not just teleport back to Theramore. And while he had been born on Azeroth, in the Eastern Kingdoms, he had not awoken to his gifts until he'd been brought here, to Shadowmoon. He had no anchor points in Azeroth except for Theramore, and it was an aching, bleeding arcane wound that would not allow him to return. He was stuck here, no mount, no place in Outland he really wanted to go to, and the Dark Portal miles distant. He might just need that shaman after all...


	33. Chapter 33

It had been easy enough to get here, underneath Dalaran, and Raheli studied the ragged bottom of the floating city. From here, things could get tricky. The Horde had killed Dalaran's head magus just days ago. All of her vaunted 'neutrality' might mean absolutely nothing once she set a hoof up there...she was tauren. They were members of the Horde.

"Well." She sighed, gripping the reins of her charger and plotting her path in her mind. "Let's go see if we can get this done." The portal here on the ground still recognized her, she appeared on the landing of Dalaran exactly as she always had. She gave her charger his head, bolting down the streets towards the capital city portals on the opposite side of Dalaran. The streets were empty, while she'd been expecting to dodge the usual crowds, there were none.

But there were guards on the capital portals, and Raheli stopped in front of them... a solitary tauren on a warhorse. Hopefully that oddity in itself would give them pause for thought.

"Identify yourself." The older of the mages arrayed against her snapped, and she took a deep breath. She was riding a war horse, barded with the colors of the Argent Crusade. She wore a Grand Champion's set of mail. Their tabard. Their shield. All she needed to drive the point home more loudly was a trained parrot on her shoulder screeching that she belonged to Fordring.

"Dame Raheli Dawnstrider, of the Argent Crusade."

"Dame of the Crusade." He regarded her through warily narrowed eyes. "You claim neutrality?"

"I did not answer Garrosh's summons to return to Orgrimmar. He is not my Warchief. I serve the Highlord Fordring, and the Crusade, not that one. We..." She took a deep breath, "Would have come to Theramore's defense if we had been asked to, and we still support the Kirin Tor. What has happened is a tragedy...and a travesty of justice. We view it the same as any other atrocity. But I am on a task put to me by Kalecgos, and blessed by the Highlord...please step aside."

"Kalecgos." The voice was familiar, and should be even more familiar than it was. Raheli tightened her jaw, pulling the charger around to face Jaina Proudmoore. Once, the woman's hair had been the same color as the brightest of straw, golden as a summer day, and a lock of that color remained...but the rest was as pale as Raheli's own color. Her gaze was too steady, too firm, her voice too even. This was rage, controlled by an iron will.

"Yes, Jaina. I've sent her on a task." Another half turn of the charger put him facing back the way he'd come from, ass end pointed at the Shattrath portal.

"What task is that? And where...is what I sent you for?"

Kalecgos sighed, walking forward to grasp the reins of Raheli's charger, turning him back towards the portal. "That is what Raheli is looking for, Jaina. I could not find him at Theramore. He may...may... have escaped back to Outland. It is Raheli's belief that one of his ancestor spirits was keeping him awake when we could not get him to sleep. That he saw the airship coming. She has volunteered to go looking for him."

"Escaped? Kalec...is that possible?"

He led the horse up to the portal's horizon, letting go and slapping the animal on its neck. Whatever answer he gave was swallowed by the transit, and Raheli rode out onto Shattrath's wide stone terrace. Like the Tournament Grounds, she could remember when this city had also fronted a war, when these terraces were shoulder to shoulder with combatants who had answered the call. Now, it could almost be described as sleepy. Shattrath. Sleepy. Now she understood the stares that the elders carried, that air of 'been here, done this before' that they greeted each new offensive with.

But, she had a consort to rescue. Which meant she needed to purchase a mount for him here, and head out for Shadowmoon with all haste.

But what? Her information was garbled in some way that she didn't quite grasp. Jaina Proudmoore's consort should be human, or perhaps Elven. But he had what was most certainly an Orcish ancestor spirit attached to him. One that hid from her gaze...

"The best mount for Varik would be exactly what you think, shaman. A wolf. Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

A bossy, snotty, shadowy Orcish spirit. Raheli wrinkled her nose at it, but went as suggested...to the kennels. Once, she'd been with one of these wolves, so swallowed up with being something above Shu'halo, immersed in being part of a bigger picture, that she'd turned her back on her people's preferred mount. It had been a good partnership, and she'd been sad to lose her.

She stared at the wolves, measuring them. They were not the best, but one would just have to do. "That one."

That one. The youngest of them, almost a pup still, the one that stared at her balefully, as if it was questioning just how much tauren tasted like beef. It was a leprous, thin, dark thing, with evil in its eyes and a growl in its throat. But she was not in the mood to argue with an ancestor spirit, especially one like this. Let this Varik complain.

It was good to ride again. She hadn't really given it much thought, but she'd been in the same place for way too long. Returning here was nostalgic, the last time she'd been here, everything had been right. It had made sense. She'd had dreams, she'd had a vision of where her life was going. She would serve her Horde, her Warchief, and her Chieftain until...well, right about this age, when she would return to the sun drenched prairies of Mulgore, find a lifemate, and start a family to give the Shu'halo their next generation.

But here she was, at that age. She served her Order and her Highlord, living her days in the arctic majesty of a place devoted to a war already won. But not over, and she'd stayed put...listening to the whispers of the spirits. She would have her calf, yes, and more if she wanted. Her mate was more than willing to sire them, even if he was unwilling to let the light of day fall across him. He provided from the darkness, even after his release.

She snorted in response to her own mental meanderings, there was no fixing a stubborn bull's implacable thoughts...he'd just have to come around on his own. And she'd be waiting, as usual. What others achieved through glory, Raheli achieved through a timeless patience. The Highlord lauded her constancy, her unwavering determination...but he'd been one of the few to raise that up as equal to the blatant deeds of others.

But now, she had a long ride ahead of her...with a wolf that despised everything about her...to go rescue Jaina Proudmoore's nearly mythical consort from the depths of Outland. Well, at least it was a change of scenery, and as harsh it was, a little bit of space from her beloved only offspring...the stuck like a teasel to her coat calf.


	34. Chapter 34

"So." Jaina breathed, staring at Kalecgos. "Varik?" He couldn't be alive. It just...couldn't be. This was some terrible, terrible trick. Something else to tear her open, his body must have been stolen. He had enemies, maybe one of the orcs in Theramore after the detonation had recognized his corpse and had taken it. That made so much more sense than this pitiable hope.

"Varik's remains were not at Theramore. I searched, Jaina. Where we had left him. Then in the infirmary. Any place that they would have put him...nothing. He's hard to miss. I took the blanket he'd been on outside of Theramore to try to trace him, and got only wash back from the bomb. So I decided to try a shaman."

"Raheli Dawnstrider." It was a good choice, a solid choice. Once, she'd served Thrall. And now, she served Tirion Fordring. She'd always walked the right path, even when that route became painful.

"I needed a good, neutral shaman. Not draenei. And not serving the Horde. Left only one that I know well enough to trust with this." He watched her with concern. "Jaina, I'm not saying that Varik survived. But I'm not saying that he didn't, either. There's enough here for me to doubt. And if I doubt, I'm going to do my best to find the truth. And that means looking for him. Now." He sighed, gathering her up into his arms. He was strong, supportive, and he confused the hell out of her. He'd been there every step of the way through this, and she couldn't deny what she felt. But now, he was looking for Varik?

"Why?" It was a cruel question, but she'd been in a cruel mood recently. Kalec didn't take it as such, only chuckled in answer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Jaina." It was teasing, mourning, and somewhat lecturing. "Varik can, if he still lives, give you everything that I cannot. Just as I will take Tyrigosa as a consort, one of my own kind, you should have Varik as well. For the same reasons. Lovers are one thing, Jaina, but a consort is something else all together. Varik was doing a superlative job in that position, but I cannot be your consort. You cannot be mine. Friend, yes. Lover, yes. We each have duties. Expectations. Needs. And we cannot fulfill those for each other, completely. And even if that is not so any more, Jaina, I will not abandon him if there is a chance he has survived."

"Do you think he has?" It was almost too much to consider.

He glanced out of the window, out over Dalaran, his expression guarded and pensive. "I think, Jaina, that one is a survivor. I give him better than even odds with what I know about him. And if he is alive, Raheli will find him."

Varik woke, still fighting the headache that his attempt to teleport into Theramore had spawned. He was terribly thirsty, and he sighed. He was a mage. Some of the greatest mages on Azeroth said so. Mages made water. Therefore, he should be able to make water.

There must be a trick to it, because the therefore didn't quite work. All he could sense was the dead around him, just breathlessly waiting to be raised, but not a hint of 'water'. At least the Arrakoa had water, and he found it when he tossed their camp for baubles and supplies. He was tired of waiting for something; orc, draenei, boar or chimaera, to decide he looked as tempting as the late Arrakoa had. It didn't help that he was still garbed in the same dark blue robes he'd been wearing throughout the assault on Theramore...their coloring stood out, and they had been liberally soaked in blood...his own, and that of his enemies. He must smell like quite the treat. But did he want to go...?

He couldn't even say to go home, because he understood that what he'd begun to see as home no longer existed. Gone, destroyed. And, at the edge of his perceptions, another problem. He sensed the thin edge of insanity from Jaina...rage, anguish, and the tide of vengeance that had brought Gul'dan back to the surface. Another insane force driving his life? It had been going soooo well, and he had been content. As much as he cared for Jaina, he couldn't go through the hell of following someone else's madness again. Not for her, she wasn't worth it. She didn't even have his child to hold over his head. He could just...vanish. She might even think he was dead. Right. An archmage. He was a little surprised that she wasn't here already, come to collect him. But no, it seemed that Kalecgos, and a shaman, were the ones looking for him? And did he even want to be found?

"Only you can answer that for yourself."

He groaned, audibly. More things messing with him, just what he needed. However, he didn't recognize this voice, nor could he even identify what it was.

"Do you love Jaina?"

And it was a nosy voice, at that. Varik pursed his lips at the question. "No." He finally stated firmly. He did not. He cared for her. He respected her. But he was not a naive youngster anymore, he did not love easily... maybe with more time, he could have grown to love her.

"They all say that your honesty is one of your greatest gifts, and the most devastating of your personality traits. Does she deserve your consideration? And do you not deserve to know if she is as maddened as you feel her to be?"

Give Jaina a chance. He frowned at the idea, there was so much chance that he'd be the one to regret that, like he always did.

"I know." There was an undefined sadness under the response, and Varik paused to listen. Few spoke to him with that deep regret that he sensed from this one. He owed Jaina nothing. What he had owed had been more than paid for during his stand for Theramore. He'd been bitterly unsuccessful, it was an affront and a still bleeding wound in his heart. He'd tried, so damned hard...and failed. He'd lost the closest thing to a friend that he'd had in years. A man who had never turned dark on him, or asked him to do the unthinkable. The first person to see him...and not a creation...in years. Even Jaina hadn't managed to see Varik underneath all of the labels and ties in his soul. Morris had.

"Mourn your friend. Here, in the silence, where no one will see you. The shaman moves quickly, but you have time, Varrick."

Varik snorted, even the voices in his head mispronounced his name.

"I do not mispronounce it. I grasp the difference, Varrick. Varik is the Deathcaller's chosen name. Corrupted by a demon's blood and dominated by Ner'zhul's and Gul'dan's raging madnesses. You are that no longer. The death of all three of those forces in your life has faded their influence upon you. You stood against the Horde in defense of Theramore. Are you truly Varik, or are you Varrick now?"

Not a question he felt content to answer, and he snarled in response. Damned voices... dead, empty snippets.

There was laughter in his head, and he paused, tilting his jaw. "I am not the remnants of the dead, Varrick. Those fade from you quickly, and I can finally, finally reach you through their chaos."

Oh, he really didn't like the sound of that. He sat in the shade of the largest Arrakoa tent, trying to banish the exhaustion that dogged at his consciousness. He'd pushed himself to the edge, but it had been necessary. He had faith in his resilence, but not to the point where he felt he could survive a close impact mana bombing. Not even in full war form, as the Deathcaller itself, would he be bold enough to try.

"I am V'eru. Of the Sha'tar."

Oh, ow. Varik let himself fall into the foul bundles of cushions, groaning. The absolute last thing he needed was to have attraced a naaru's attention, but he apparently had.

"You've always had my attention. You just could not hear me."

"And now I can?" Not exactly what he wanted to hear. Shattrath had more than one naaru in residence, and they could really mess up his life...especially on Outland. They could probably call the shaman back, strand him here...still injured, weak, with no mount, no gear, far from aid.

"We do not hinder Raheli's path to you."

Raheli. A lovely name, and Varik turned it over in his mind. Not draenei, although it was musical enough to be. Not orcish, by any means, it was too soft to be.

"Kalecgos was wise enough to approach a shaman unfamiliar with your past. Raheli has no reason to hate you, and no reason to keep you from Jaina. She is also..." The naaru paused, consideringly, weighing its words, "Strong enough to live in Gul'dan's focus and not waver."

Who was not orcish or draenei. Varik hated that the world had changed, but in ways he hadn't had the chance to learn yet. How could he make decisions when he didn't have all the intelligence he needed for them?

"Raheli Dawnstrider is a shaman of the shu'halo people, commonly called Tauren. They look like 'cows', I am told."

"The things at Theramore that rode bald clefthooves?" It had to be joking. He was not going to be rescued by a cow... was he? Had he fallen so far?

"They are a great people. Do not let their forms fool you, Varrick. But now, you are exhausted. Sleep."

As if he had much choice. He was dead on his feet, and his eyes stayed closed way too long with every blink. Even if the tent smelled like a shed after plucking a hundred wet, dead chickens in it...and the bedding worse...he had to rest. He had to sleep.

Raheli growled, stopping to get her bearings. Once, she'd known this path like the palm of her own hand, but that had been years ago. Now, it was a vague remembrance. The wolf whined, settled at the far range of its leash, a bloody trail marked across its forehead. It had been foolish enough to try to take a bite out of the charger, and the charger had proved that the young wolf was not its equal... by placing an exquisitely accurate hoof across its brow.

The tauren sighed, shaking her head. There hadn't been a lot in this direction even at the height of the offensive, and now there was less. She'd have to bypass the Alliance settlement still clinging to the edge of the hills, thread the pass, and then, avoid notice by the Horde outpost beyond. Once that would have been a respite, a sanctuary, but now, Raheli wasn't so certain. She was counting on her known allies...and the Aldor had no places close to this route. No, she was going to take the direct route, right through the middle of Shadowmoon Valley. It was a bold idea to ignore the two divergent roads, but it seemed safer...and faster.

Safer. To avoid a Horde outpost, one she'd been stationed at, led troops from. The very idea rubbed her coat the wrong way, and she glared ahead. The farther this trip went, the more she considered it. All she had was time out here, none of her usual responsibilities to keep her distracted. No one to truly talk to. No calf to tend. No forces to train. No paperwork. Just a very large, dark spirit whose very presence kept her own spirits at bay, but was mostly silent itself. It was odd to have this distance, this time to herself, to ponder and consider. Had she been wrong to turn her back on the Horde when they'd called her? No. She was still certain of that, even after the clarity that all of this time to ponder had given her. The Highlord deserved her service. The ideal of the Crusade was one she could uphold without doubt...shoulder to shoulder with Crusaders, rising above racial lines, to stand for Azeroth. Not the Horde, not the Alliance, but to stand for the very world itself. Above such small and petty differences. She followed a leader she loved, respected, and who was not afraid to be challenged. She heard dark and disturbing news from Kalimdor, whispers of people vanishing after airing their doubts, whispers of a tyrant rising in the city she'd once called home. Once trusted advisors pushed into the shadows, ridiculed. The Argent Crusade might be biding its time, dealing with mop up, but Tirion Fordring would never respond to doubts about his leadership like the rumors she'd heard of Garrosh. When they were called again, they'd move. Until then, this was a rest. A time to gather their breath and their strength, to train those committed enough to their vision to still keep coming to an outpost passed over by time. And right now, it gave her the opportunity to spend some time alone, reevaluating her choices, and to give something back to Jaina Proudmoore. "This way." She muttered to the charger. He'd never been here before, he came from a later episode in her life...she'd travelled these roads on the back of a Frostwolf.


	35. Chapter 35

"You need to hurry." The voice was solemn, calming after the same idea given by the gnashing, impatient, dark spirit, and Raheli considered it. She'd heard this voice before...but not because she was a shaman. All could hear the naaru.

"What am I coming into? Raheli demanded, pushing the charger into a faster pace. She could afford to wear him down now, they'd reach Jaina's consort this day. The charger could rest while she tended the man.

"He was shot at Theramore's gate, and triaged in their infirmary to the point where he was stable enough to wait. He was dosed with painkillers when he would not sleep. He teleported in spite of all of that, to arrive at the Altar of Damnation."

Raheli grimaced. Hardly a good spot for an injured, drugged mage to land at. Even if the spirits chained to the Altar left him alone, the native fauna was unlikely to.

"The Arrakoa picked him up."

Never a good thing. Pesty, squawky, beady eyed evil little shits. Feather dusters with a bad attitude.

"And they died for it. But their treatment has only made him worse off."

Of course. Raheli let the charger open up his stride, flying over the dismal gray ground. At least she was a small tauren, a lightweight taken in comparison to her race's norm, and was not as much of a burden as she might have been. The open ground made for good time, she could see obstacles and rough spots from miles away, and there, visible on the horizon, an Arrakoa camp. She arrived in a flurry of totems, in case there were Arrakoa, or anything else, hidden amongst the silent tents, but there was nothing but what she'd come here for. She discovered him in the largest of the tents, either asleep or completely unconscious. He'd reached the point where that determination was difficult to make, and she plopped another totem close by, to begin a slow heal while she took stock of his situation.

He was most certainly human, and big for one of those. Her grasp of racial beauty was sluggish, she could judge orcs fairly decently...but humans, not so much. She had no clue if Jaina's consort was appealing, or appalling.

The naaru chuckled in her mind. "Physically? Appealing. Spiritually? Often appalling."

Charming idea. He was wearing mage's robes, but they'd seen much better days, and she was content to cut them to view his wounds quicker. They'd been bandaged, and she caught a whiff of an antiseptic ointment impregnated into the fibers. The job was only supposed to have held him a couple of hours, a day at the most...not five of them. He was a fighter, she'd have to give him that. He didn't feel pretty...

"Varrick. Pretty? No. Not even close."

Raheli only nodded, closing the naaru out of her mind. It was not a source of power for her. Nor was it truly a source of support, or comfort. It was an alien force, one she had never understood. But she understood the ill man before her, and she took a deep breath, touching the wellspring in her soul that the spirits had gifted her with. Be whole. Be well. Be strong.

Varik came to, feeling a thousand percent better. He was no longer alone, he had a bony wolf lying on his right side, gazing at him through wary, malign, pale yellow eyes. His left side was butted up against the tent side, and his head was pillowed in a lap. He had woken to a slight stroke down his forehead, gentle and delicate. He turned his head slightly, to get a better view, and blinked. No cow should have breasts. And no cow should have breasts like those, eclipsing the view of everything above them from his current angle.

"You're awake." It had a deep voice, but not rumbly deep. "Good."

"You must be Raheli." At least that sounded more sane than any other comment he could come up with... all of them were some dreadful combination of cow and boobs.

"I am Raheli." It confirmed, apparently content to leave him just as he was.

"Your wolf is..." He tried to come up with an appropriate compliment, but there were none. Much too small for her, thin as a nightmare, and just as unpleasant to face.

"Not my wolf." There was the bell edge of a laugh under her syllables. "He's all yours."

"Mine?" Now that it was mentioned, the wolf did resemble his last one.

"Yours. The spirit calling me to you said it was the right one to bring...speak to it if you do not like the wolf." It was odd to hear what truly appeared to be some sort of animal speak to him in a lilting, vibrant orcish. She leaned over so that she could look at him over her breasts, and he got his first good look at what he rested against. She was pale gray, with a splash of pure white across her forehead. A pair of dark horns sprouted from a cascade of flint colored mane, broad ears edged in black, so animalistic, until he met her eyes. A great people, the naaru had vouched for them, and he saw it at that moment. She had a brightly intelligent gaze, calm and gentle. "Can you sit?"

Yes, yes he could. And if he did, he wouldn't be staring at a large talking cow's breasts. He let her help push him up into a seated position, leaning against a pile of dusty cushions. "You need to drink something." She stated, turning to rummage through one of the packs next to her. "Here."

He was parched, truly, and drank easily half of the small bottle before he tasted it. And it was good, much better than he'd been steeling himself for, a hint of sweet, an edge of tangy...it washed his mouth of dry gunk and thirst. It made him feel much better than it should, yet didn't come with the buzz of a potion. "That's great." He admitted, smelling the empty bottle.

She gave him what had to be a smile, and he was surprised he could read it as such. "Touch of sugar, touch of juice, herbs to combat dehydration, and fizzy water." She ticked off the ingredients. "I make it for our units in the field. Works wonders, if I'm allowed to say so."

"Our units?" He'd seen these in the assault on Theramore. She spoke orcish to him. She said that she had been called by a spirit of his, probably Gul'dan. Did she believe he was part of this new Horde? A brother in arms? She wore armor and gear that he knew had to be screaming her allegance, but he didn't recognize the blazon. It wasn't the Horde. It wasn't the Alliance. It wasn't Theramore. He'd never seen it before.

"Ah." She murmured, "I belong to the Argent Crusade."

Which meant absolutely nothing to him. There wasn't even so much as a teasing hint in the back of his mind in answer to it. Jaina hadn't mentioned them, either. He spread his hands in confusion, and she took the motion as an opportunity to put another bottle in his grasp.

"The Crusade is a group that came together to fight the undead in Northrend. We are neutral, we take champions from the Horde, from the Alliance. We do not answer to king or warchief...only to our own Highlord. We seek to set aside the old hatreds and work towards a larger goal." She shrugged, watching him drink. "Sometimes we are successful. Sometimes we are not."

"So you are not a member of the Horde?"

He sensed a rising edge of unease, the way she stilled, dropped a shoulder, her ears vanishing into her thick mane. "No." She finally admitted painfully. "No longer. The warchief is mad. I thought that before Theramore. Now, I have incontrovertible proof of that. He is insane. I will not follow that."

Well, at least she was saying things that he finally understood. This was something that he grasped implicitly. "How long do we stay here?" He asked, lifting the edge of the tent fly to watch a deeper darkness creep across Shadowmoon.

"Until you are fit." She answered patiently.

"Jaina..."

"I told Kalecgos that you did not seem to be dead. I assume he told her. None of that matters, however." Her patience moved firmly to implacabililty, and he nodded. He knew stubborn when he saw it in play. He wasn't going until she said so...or until he got well enough to go in spite of her. And they both had the same result, he'd be able to leave.

He nodded, finishing off the second bottle. It had helped banish much of the lightheadedness, now he was starving, and had to piss...both cheerfully normal signs that his body was recovering. "I don't suppose you have food?" He asked hopefully. The Arrakoa had food...but it was the sort of food he'd have to be truly desperate to eat.

"I do." She promised, standing to walk out of the tent. He blinked, and clenched his teeth in shock. No cow should look like that. The breasts, the hips, the sway. He was definitely feeling better, and it was showing in a terrible way.

She came back in with a bowl, passing it to him. It smelled wonderful, much better than he'd been hoping for, and he fell to eating. "This is great." He stated truthfully, around a mouthful. "I wish I had a better place to offer you..." He chuckled, glancing around. Her gaze flicked along the same path, and she shrugged.

"I've been in worse." She said wryly. "Although it does smell like a Sin'dorei stable in here."

Another one of those comments he didn't quite get, but he understood 'smells like a stable' and he'd agree with that. "So, what now?" He asked when she settled back down across from him, a bowl on her own knees. "I must admit..." He began slowly, "That I am concerned about how I'm supposed to get back to Azeroth...and Jaina."

She paused, considering the question. "I'll hire a mage from the Lower City to get us to Dalaran, if it's open. If not, we'll have to figure out some other route to get you there."


	36. Chapter 36

It was odd and wrong to saddle up another scrawny wolf, under the shadow of a twisted sky, the fel spewing volcano that had risen when Gul'dan had torn the world apart dominating the horizon. Raheli gave none of it a second glance, she had the air of one long familiar to the area. Her mount was not the bald clefthoof he'd been expecting, but a giant gray warhorse standing serenely under the shade fly of a nearby tent. The oddity increased after she groomed it, and began to tack it up... in shining silver barding fit for royalty. "A horse?" He questioned dubiously, "The times I have seen your people before..." He pushed away the memory of the only time he'd seen them, Raheli had not been there. She had not played a role in Theramore's destruction. "They ride clefthooves."

"Kodo...not quite clefthooves." She said, tightening the girth and giving the saddle one last shake to be certain it was correctly seated. "I see the comparison... I'd more say that kodo are a dwarf cross between clefthoof and elekk. They're native to the plains of central Kalimdor, there are herds just outside of Dustwallow Marsh. We're native to the plains of central Kalimdor." She motioned with a large thumb to her own chest, "Kodo have always been our beasts of burden, mounts. I had one when I was much younger." She mounted gracefully, while Varik cautiously tried the same with the young wolf. He released a bubbling growl, and snapped vaguely in the direction of Varik's foot, but gave no real threat.

"But you don't now."

She sat, watching him work out his own harnessing, giving the wolf time to get used to his weight. "No. I ride the mount of my station. He's just as much part of my gear as anything else I have...he says what I am for all the worlds to see. Much like an orcish warlord rides a wolf. It would be wrong to see one on something else...even if that orcish warlord is human."

And she had him there. "How did you know?" Was Gul'dan talking?

"The first night I was here, you spoke in your sleep. But then, you were pretty bad off. You kept talking about how the Horde had done you wrong, erasing your legacy to the Clans."

"They have." He muttered, slacking up on the reins and relaxing. His wolf flattened down, but warily took a step forward, then another. "Good boy." He breathed, stroking the dark ruff while the young wolf figured things out. If this was the wolf that Gul'dan thought was his, he could not doubt or complain. And even if he did, Shattrath was miles away. He'd just have to work it out anyway. "Go on, boy."

It took awhile, but finally he did get it figured out and settled into a bounding run beside Raheli's oh, so perfectly behaved charger. She set an easy pace, right through the middle of the Valley, headed like a beacon straight for the pass into Terokhar.

"I see we don't agree with roads." He chuckled...even in his time, there had been pathways. He'd bet they were still there, this dry death preserved such things.

"In Shadowmoon, no." She noted slowly. "Between the Horde, the Alliance, the fel orcs, the blood elves, and the Ghostriders, I'll pass, thank you very much. This way is usually just critters."

He nodded, again, he didn't get what she said, perfectly, but he got the underlying meaning. "Your group is not here?"

"No, the Argent Crusade's current incarnation formed after the main conflict here. I was a member of the Horde when I was here last. Under the leadership of our previous warchief."

And that was a definite ouch. He measured her words, her tone, the air around her. It was a long way to ride with an angry companion, but he wanted to know so much...and yes, it was a long ride. He chose silence, to let her decide whether or not she went on. "The spirits say you've been asleep for a long time." She finally spoke.

"Did your warchief die?" He understood faltering loyalties all too well.

She barked a painful laugh. "No. No. My warchief yet lives. It would be easier if he didn't, but he does."

A split? A schism? If so, why would she opt completely out? He understood the value of a completely neutral force as she described, but he heard the tones of a committed, loyal soldier under her words. It was a painful reminder to hear such devotion...

"Our previous warchief was a great leader. Gifted, wise, calm and thoughtful. He is..." She banked her head to the side, listening to voices only she could hear. "The opposite of you. Born orc, raised human. Thrall, son of Durotan."

Hardly an identification that Varik really wanted to hear. Things had changed so much.

"But it reached a point where his gifts became more important than his leadership to the Horde. So he named a successor and went to heal the cataclysm."

"And this successor is Garrosh Hellscream, who ordered the attack on Theramore."

She spat. "Yes. Thrall and Jaina were allies, she's always been there for us. For everybody. And now, this. Hellscream has betrayed everything he was given. Everything we built...wiped away. He attacks within the Horde, he attacks our finest allies, he opens us up to retaliation from everybody. My people are now caught in the crossfire." She glared at an unoffending point far on the horizon. "But if I can help Jaina even just a little, by helping you home...maybe I can make a difference."

"I am afraid." He finally admitted, and the ear closest to him swiveled in his direction. "I feel Jaina's pain, I feel her rage. It's calming, but... I cannot serve insanity again. Just like you refuse to, I refuse to."

She took a deep breath, flicking her eyes to him. "Jaina Proudmoore is one of the finest people it has ever been my honor to meet." She finally stated. "We cannot do enough to repay her. If this has driven her mad...it would be a blow we might not recover from. But I have faith in her."

That shouldn't be enough for him, but for some reason it came close. If this soul had faith in Jaina, then he was willing to try. "Tell me about her." He asked, and she glanced in his direction.

"I'm no tale teller." She finally laughed after a long pause, and he nodded. He guessed that, she was, by what he had seen, a combat healer. As much a soldier as the person heading the charge...and that was the perspective he wanted to hear. If this one valued Jaina so much, he wanted to know why. He needed to know before he started putting more of himself out there.

"Good. I don't want tales, I want the truth." He was bracing himself to make a decision he wasn't certain he wanted to. To face giving himself over again, to risk madness at the hands of another. He'd been there. He'd promised himself that this time would be different.

She snorted, her eyes back on the long path ahead, and then began to talk.


	37. Chapter 37

More than a week had passed. Most of the funerals had come...and gone, Jaina making certain that those who could be recovered from Theramore received a proper burial, while she wrapped her head around the fact that she would never rebuild it. Her place was now Dalaran, her position now Head Magus of the Kirin Tor. It had never been what she'd seen herself as, in fact, she'd tried to distance herself from it, but it was now inescapable. She was resigned, inured to it. Almost everything was finished, except for the last unanswered question... was Varik alive? As much as she wanted to hope, to believe, it was too painful to place much stock in. It was easier to just accept his death, and wait for Raheli to substantiate the truth of it. That one had been sent on a fool's errand, and Jaina's only hope was that the shaman could return something of him...some memento, something to clasp when the nights grew long. Every possession he'd had was lost in the evaporation of her Tower, her only touchstone was the original report book from those who had faced him during the Second War. At least that still had the portrait that Rhonin had copied for her, something to make Varik more than a ghost whose details would eventually fade from her memories. But she'd like more. She'd like something to bury. Why had she been fool enough to go get him? At least he'd been mostly safe...

She felt the portal manifest, not one of the permanent portals heavily guarded by wary Kirin Tor, but a temporary, for hire, transport. Who? Travel had been restricted to Dalaran, things were too volatile right now to go right back to business. And its origination point... She waved a hand in query, focusing on the horizon point for it. It was an older link, it would appear centered on the opposite side of Dalaran, far from Jaina's new apartments, far from the guards... and it was being opened from Outland. She hissed, appearing in the doorway of the room it was opening onto, steeling her nerves. At least this was private, far from prying eyes...

The first through was Raheli Dawnstrider's charger, carrying the Argent champion. Her response to Jaina's presence was a long glance, and then a cheekguard to cheekguard grin. "Lady Proudmoore." She laughed, moving on out of the horizon. "I found your consort."

No. Raheli was a kind and decent sort. If she'd found his remains, she would be somber. Downcast. For her to be this amused and pleased with herself meant...

The portal admitted a lean, sickly wolf into the room before it collapsed, and all doubts vanished. She'd know the man dismounting from its back anywhere, that build, that stance, that questioning, yet stern stare. Varik. Alive. Here.

The room spun around her, and it was all that she could do to stay on her feet. "Varik." She breathed and he grinned in response.

"Jaina!" He chuckled, and she forced herself to take a step towards him. He looked much better than she'd would have expected, healthy, hale, whole... his hair braided, garbed in a simple red linen shirt and black trousers. Reality finally caught and she stepped into motion, first slowly, and then gaining speed. He merely opened his arms, and she stepped into them, burying her face into the laces of his shirt and taking a long, hard breath in. She could smell him. Feel him. Hear him. His heart, the rush of air in his lungs, the weight of his arms around her shoulders. He was back, and it was suddenly too much to take. All she could do was take huge handfuls of his shirt and bawl like a child.

"You came back!" She wailed stupidly, and he kissed her on the top of her head.

"Of course I came back." He stated simply, although she heard the echoes of a concrete decision beneath the syllables. "I am your consort, Jaina. I've come to stand beside you again. Now, more than ever."

"You'll do what needs to be done?" She knew it was a different mandate than the last one she'd given him, but she was different now. She'd been pulled back from insanity, from rage, but she would never again be as trusting as she'd once been. This was a dark time, and he had a lot of experience finding his way through the shadows. She wouldn't ask him to turn away from that, ever again.

"Whatever must be done." He agreed solemnly, into the suddenly breathless silence of the room. Jaina had never noticed before just how lovely the room was, painted in the light that fell through the jewel toned stained glass windows embedded in the pale walls. It had always just been a place to hurry through, to be on her way from. Now, it almost felt like a chapel, overseen by... her gaze fell on the silent Raheli watching... a Dame of the Argent Crusade. This felt like a vow, a bond.

"I will stand beside you, Jaina, to the fullest of my abilities. This...I swear to you."

"I lied to you."

He paused, his brows lowering slightly as he searched her face. "How so?" He asked finally, taking a wisp of her hair and studying it.

"I told you we were trying. We weren't..."

The strand of silver fell from his fingers, and he rested that hand on her shoulder. "I told you...Jaina...that it was your decision, and your timing. So you listened to a small, uncertain voice in yourself. I do it all of the time. And..." He took a larger handful, fanning the strands out inches from her nose, "I know what I see here, Jaina. You were caught in the flow, and you were changed. It was best that you were not with child in that moment."

She'd almost forgotten how easily he saw through things. How he could shred the packaging and get right down to the problem.

"Then we stand together, Head Magus of the Kirin Tor and consort." It was a question, a challenge, and a warning. He exploded into laughter, resting an arm over her shoulder and beckoning to Raheli to follow them.

"As I said before, Jaina Proudmoore, you're almost good enough for me."

"Ass." She muttered, falling right back into things, stepping into the sun drenched streets of Dalaran, her consort's arm slung comfortably around her. She gripped his fingers, taking a long, cleansing breath of Northrend air. "Are you willing to go after the Horde?"

He squeezed her hand, setting his jaw, his gaze dire. "I'm willing to go after Hellscream and those who follow him, Jaina. They will regret what they've done to you. And they will never forget their trespasses against me."

She nodded in acceptance, leading the way to their new home. While she knew it wasn't over, in fact, it felt like it was just getting started, it was still a brighter day than yesterday had been. Things could come back together, and all was not lost. She could still do this.

"I lost your spell books." Actually, she'd lost everything. The mana bomb had fed on all of that, used all of those arcane items as fuel for the torrent.

"That's fine." He murmured, "They did their job."

"They had a job?" Their job should have been as a repository of his knowledge, his legacy...and they were evaporated into the very air.

"Certainly. They brought you to me. And you bring me back to myself. I wrote them to try to keep from falling, Jaina. A key to my own soul, sewn up in there so that I could come back. They did their task better than I could have imagined, they put me in a position I can claw my way out of. I am whole. I am back."

Again, he saw things that she didn't. He saw this as a gift and a hope, not as a loss. How he managed to stay so optimistic in spite of everything was a wonder, and a path for her to follow now. A guide. A partner. Kalec was correct, Varik had to be this in her life, the dragon could not fill this role.

"Then come home..."

"Varrick. Call me Varrick."

She took a moment to digest that, before nodding. "Then come home, Varrick. Dinner, bed...and tomorrow, we have work to do." He only nodded, following her into his new home, and his new life.


End file.
